


Wonderwall

by WashiEaglewings



Series: Washi's nuzlockes [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Nuzlocke Challenge, frequent anxiety attacks, main characters with anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 90
Words: 382,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashiEaglewings/pseuds/WashiEaglewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it had been anyone other than True Fargone, Casey the Pikachu would have said "no" to a return to life as a battler. He's been content as a part-time therapy Pokémon and babysitter; as far as he's concerned, battles mean the chance of death and defeat, two things that he's had more than his fair share of. But because it's True, Casey agrees to accompany her as his Starter on one condition: he only has to stay until she's caught a team strong enough to support her.</p><p>Of course, things never end up according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Wonderwall is the novelization of my Nuzlocke run through Pokémon Yellow. This run was originally (and continues to be) hosted on the Nuzlocke forums, and has been edited for a clearer read. I also manage a run-themed tumblr (http://wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com), where extra fic, art, and content will be posted.
> 
> Please enjoy this semi-vanilla run, and my sincerest apologies for any sudden ear-worms. <3

The job of a Pokémon is simple: you stand by your trainer until you win, you aren't needed anymore, or you die.

I knew plenty of Pokémon who signed up enthusiastically for the task, eager to get out of their tiny worlds to explore the much bigger one; I can count on my fingers and toes how many I had heard had fallen victim to the system. It's the world we live in—battling is in our blood—and I suppose it's a noble way to die and everything, but that had never been my cup of tea.

In Pallet Town, Pokémon have one of three options: you stay wild and risk capture; you sign up to be a Starter; or, like me, you sign up for something that doesn't have anything to do with battling at all.

For me and a few others, it meant working with kids. We weren't trained therapists or anything, just cuddly things to love on a bad day, and playmates on a good one. I’d be at recess with the little ones running around—and teaching them basic things, like _"Don't you dare pull that"_ and _"Fingers do not GO THERE—"_  and help them with their silly art projects. (I guess that makes me a classroom mascot, too, in a weird way. But at least this way I was doing something.)

I would sit with the lonely kids. I would be their listening ears, their shoulders to cry on. Little by little, with a smile and a song, I would build them up so that they were just like the other rugrats running around within town limits. And every kid would have a different name for me, a different use; and that was okay. I could be anything they wanted, or needed, because I would be here.

I did it for years. And I loved working with them. I did. But almost every kid I met and played with and comforted left Pallet with a starter who practically worshiped the ground they walked on. They left into the world only semi-prepared, only half-knowing the dangers ahead: what old Oak told them in their lectures, and any words of advice I had given.

I don't think any of them really knew, either, until their first one. After the first body, they seem to get it.

Most of the kids would use me for as long as they needed, and then go off in their own worlds, and then their own journeys. There was one kid who stuck around the longest, though, one I actually got to watch grow up from a little tike running around on chubby legs into a young woman—who still ran around on chubby legs, granted, but at least she doesn't shriek as much as she used to. True had always been a bit quieter than the other boys and girls, but unbearably sweet and adventurous. It's always the quiet ones that get into the most trouble, I swear, because there were multiple times I had to tell her _"Stop climbing that tree!"_  or _"Come out of that cave!"_  or _"Get away from that river o—Oh."_

It made for some interesting stories to talk about, when she was in that awkward pre-adolescent period. She never grew out of being one of the bigger kids in the town, either, but somehow it never really affected her. Not that I saw.

The second they turned ten, all of the kids in her class went on journeys, with those ridiculous grins and their starters padding after them as though they were the eighth wonder of the world. And True stayed behind. I never asked her why it was, because frankly, it wasn't any of my damned business. I figured she wasn't ready this year—maybe all of my griping had finally found a listening ear—and would go when she was eleven.

Well, she turned eleven. Then twelve. And finally it got to the point where she was sixteen and she still hadn't gone away.

It was the night before the latest batch of kids were going off on their journeys. True and I had been perched on a rock overlooking the river—the very same one she had fallen into, all those years ago—nibbling on apples, when I had asked her. "So do you really like Pallet Town, or are you finally going away this year?"

Maybe she had been expecting it, because she sighed and looked straight at me with her green eyes. "I went to go see the Starters today."

I knew, because when Oak was talking with all of the human kids, I was prepping the starters—so many of them fresh out of the egg and so ridiculously bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that, frankly, it made me sick—for the journey ahead. And then the kids and Pokémon would meet up and there would be time for each kid to find their perfect match. It's probably one of the most important decisions a trainer can make, and there's a lot of competition among the Pokémon to make them seem like the best choice.

"Well," she said awkwardly, looking toward the setting sun in the distance, "I go every year. And I listen to all the kids who are so excited. And I listen to Professor Oak's speech. I probably have that thing memorized at this point," she says as an aside, and I chuckle.

"And I look at all of the Pokémon. And… I don't know, I never just, look into their eyes and think, You're the one. And I don't want to go on a journey if it means I'm not taking the Pokémon who feels right."

"Doesn't stop most kids," I say, setting the apple down beside me to look at her. "And I bet you'd be great at it."

"I mean, I _want_ to get out of here," she admits, pulling a leg up to her chest. "I _want_  to go on a journey. Mom's been pressuring me to get out of the house and make something out of my life, before it gets too late and I'm stuck here in Pallet forever. She's always saying stuff like, 'You can't go anywhere without a Pokemon,'" she mocks, and I can't help but grin. But the smile, as soon as it appears, fades away. "But I just... I don't know. I don't want to make a mistake choosing my _Starter_."

"So, what, you're just going to wait around forever for the right partner?"

What stuns me is that she looks straight into my eyes, and they're glistening and hard and I'm mentally kicking myself for saying something to upset her.

What shocks me are her words: "Well I think… I think I've already found him."

Little True, all grown up. Heh. I could almost laugh, and maybe I do. "Well, congrats. I'll be there first thing in the morning, walk you there, do everything. Which one did you choose?"

"Casey—"

"Because they're a good batch this year, even if they're a little overeager. Just _please_ tell me you didn't pick that Squirtle because I swear he's going to get someone k—"

"I want to take you," she blurts out, and both of us stop.

There's a reason I've never wanted to battle. For one thing, I'm not good at it. I can take on a Pidgey or two, sure, and I'm fast enough. But I don't have experience. I've never had that passion to go out and, well, beat people up for a living. And I sure as hell have never wanted to die fighting for my life. Whatever itch is in a Pokémon's blood to get it to fight for the glory of it, obviously missed me.

"Why the hell would you want someone like me when you could have any of those others?" I ask, looking away.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump slightly. "Because," I hear her say, "I don't want to start something as life-changing as a journey with someone I don't know. And… and I know you. And you know me. And I think… I really think we'd make a good team."

I take a breath, let it out; I do this a few times before pulling away to turn and face her, my eyes hard. It doesn't matter if we'd make a good team. Maybe we would, but. "You know how I feel about going out there."

"I know," she says softly. "And you could just… I don''t know, we would figure it out. Maybe when I have a few Pokémon of my own, or even a badge, I'd take you back here. You could keep doing what you wanted, and stay here in Pallet, and I'd be off. But I just… want these first steps with someone I know. With you." She lowers her body so we're slightly more level—I'm amazed she remembers that lesson I gave her, it was so long ago—and stares at me. It's hesitant, but only a touch; I don't think I've ever seen this passionate about anything before.

"Please," she says.

I close my eyes, and I count to ten. I itch my ear to buy some time to think. Leave a steady, quiet life behind to go off on an adventure that could get either—or both—of us killed? Or wait beside the window for a girl who may never come home?

_"Adventure is out there!"_ I hear his voice say.

I had waited for another loved one to come home. He never had.

When the stillness has become too tense, I sigh. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," she says, fingers twitching.

"Just..." Don't get us killed. Don't think I'm a slave. Don't think badly of me. "Don''t keep me in one of those damn balls."

She brings me up into a chest-shattering hug, burying her nose into the crook of my neck, and I sigh.

I don't know what the hell I'm thinking, doing this, but there is no mistaking the steady beating of True's heart against my cheek. It is this, and only this, that keeps me from falling apart at the seams.


	2. Chapter One

I walk True home after that exchange. She's still wearing a smile on her face as we walk the short distance from Oak's lab back to her house. The only light on is the tiny bulb that rests right beside the front door, and the only noise is the crunch of gravel and dirt under our feet.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asks, as we stop by the small garden gate that separates the Fargone property from the dirt-paved street.

I nod, and hope that the grin I give her doesn't look out of place. She says nothing about it, and slips inside. I don't leave until I've seen her slip inside and flip the switch off.

The few times I leave the lab at night have been to wander the acres of property just outside—I almost always have True home back home by dusk, or twilight at the latest. The few streetlamps that stand leisurely at the few crossroads, or into the square, hum contentedly under an otherwise silent night. There isn't even a swarm of Butterfree out frolicking in the moonlight. I hear only the crunch of gravel underfoot and the sway of grasses and my own thundering heart as I make my way back to the laboratory.

Judging from the excited noises and battle cries that slip out from the open windows, I already know that inside will be a completely different story. I climb the ladder that had been built years ago for me and slip inside—the air's warmer and charged with an electricity that is undeniable, that matches the flips in my belly. There are only a few lights on to guide the way to a room in the back, but I don't need them—I _know_ the commotion is coming from.

All of the new Starters should be in their Pokéballs, especially since it's near ten at night. But either one of the assistants got careless about securing everyone or Oak's loosening his standards, because they're all out chattering to each other. I've probably seen hundreds of Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle being passed along to kids starting their journeys; they blur in your head, really, so that you don't really remember the differences between individuals.

It's better not to, before you get too attached to one and see them—well.

They don't notice me slipping inside the door, or even climbing to one of the counters for a Spearow's-eye view. I call out, "If you don't want to die tomorrow, you all better get back in your Pokéballs right now and get some sleep," and just as I had predicted, several jump—one Charmander spits out a wisp of smoke in the air and blushes, covering his cheeks. Thirteen pairs of young, wide eyes blink at me, some with recognition, all with surprise.

"But how can you possibly sleep?" one Bulbasaur asks, throwing his vines up into the air. "My life is changing forever tomorrow!"

"If I could go now I would!" interjects a Squirtle, who wags his tail excitedly.

"Well you're not," I growl. "Tomorrow's hectic enough, and—"

"NO SLEEP!" a chorus answers.

"You really oughta—"

"NO SLEEP!"

My eyes narrow. "Then at least quiet down, or you'll wake the—"

"It's alright, Casey. Haven't quite gone to sleep yet."

Fourteen pairs of eyes look up as Professor Oak himself comes in, with a lab coat that's been brushed with some sort of dust or powder, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He stands relaxed as he eyes me with a raised brow, and I sheepishly look a little bit away.

He makes sure I'm looking at him before he winks—underneath my breath, I chuckle.

"But Mister," a Charmander chirps, blinking her dark blue eyes encouragingly. "How're we supposed to sleep when there's so much to do tomorrow? My eyes won't stay closed!" As if to prove her point, she tries to close those big blue eyes. It looks more like she's constipated.

He turns his pale brown eyes to the group of Starters with a soft smile and gentler words. "Now I know the beginning of your adventure is a very exciting time for all of you, but it _is_ very important for you all to get your rest. You wouldn't want to be too tired to start your journeys tomorrow, would you?"

The same Squirtle speaks up, his head quirked to the side. "But my mama said that we should take it _all_ in, and this is part of it, isn't it?"

"The least important part," Oak corrects. "The _most_ important part starts tomorrow, after the ceremony. Now let's get you all to bed, shall we?"

I wait for them to say something or object, but amazingly they all nod their heads and claim separate parts of the floor. They separate into their species, tucking themselves in between heads and limbs and tails, sharing faint whispers that bubble up with excitement—or no, that's from one of the older Squirtle, who is frothing a bit at the mouth. I'm about to go do something about it when I feel a firm hand on my back—he shakes his head as I look up at him, and whispers, "Let them have this moment."

They'll have so many others, I want to say. But I leave them be, and follow the Professor into his private quarters. The bed's been haphazardly made, and there's a pair of pants hanging over the foot of the bed. The only semi-clean part of the cozy room is his work desk, and even that is covered with orderly stacks of papers. The computer screen is flashing an email alert, but with one click, the message vanishes.

Oak settles into the plush chair with a sigh, and chuckles, "I don't think we'll have any problems now."

I think about joining him on his desk for one moment; instead I settle myself on the small end table next to the chair and the desk, where an empty glass sits. "You have _got_ to teach me how to do that," I say, as I settle down onto the fake wood.

There's a mug of something warm beside his computer; the steam rises up over his face. He takes a sip and sighs contentedly."When you become a internationally famous researcher, Casey, I shall gladly teach you."

I really do like Oak. He gets flack in town and in the League for being a man who would prefer to spend all of his time with research and Pokémon instead of mingling with the people, but he's also one of the best men I've ever met. Opinionated, genuinely cares for Pokémon, passionate about his life's work—

"I saw you heading back from the river with True," Oak says suddenly. "I didn't see her after the Starter selection today."

—And sharper than a Fearow's beak, and twice as quick on the uptake.

"Oh, yeah. She had to, uh... leave unexpectedly," I say, scratching the back of my head.

"Hmm. Shame. We had a latecomer barge into the selection process, a passionate young boy. Can't remember his name. Something color-related. But anyway, with him we have our thirteen Starters taken care of—"

"Well that's..." I sigh. "That's what I wanted to talk with you about."

He sets his mug down on a coaster next to his keyboard, and pivots his chair so that he can look directly at me, hands folded in his lap. His eyes are warm and gentle—he's joked that they're his "secret weapons" when it comes to speaking with Pokémon, something about how the eyes can never lie.

I turn mine away. "She, well... she asked me to be her starter."

"And what did you say?"

"Well... I'm going."

He doesn't say anything at first. I hear the chair moan as he settles back into it, see his legs shift from the corner of my eyes. "Interesting," he says, and it's not even that amazing that he says it. He'll say anything is "Interesting" if it makes him think. "Very interesting, interesting indeed," he says, stroking his chin. That's got to mean he's really thinking. "And you intend on taking the League Challenge?"

I can't I can't _I can't_ —"It's only for the first leg, until she's got a team prepared that's strong enough to take care—to take her further. She's going to take me back and then I'll be s—I'll be back here working—"

"You need to either slow down," Oak says soothingly, "or release that energy."

It isn't until he says it that I realize that I'm sparking. The electricity that jumps across my face and my shoulders, but it's nothing compared to the rawness in my mouth and my cheeks. I almost hiss at him, but I don't—I breathe through it instead, until the sensations die down.

I'm shaking as I look up at Oak, who's watching me with a pained face and sorrowful eyes. "I know it's a frightening prospect, Casey, but if the girl really wants you to go with her there's obviously a reason."

"She says she doesn't want to start her journey all by herself," I say, and I'm breathless.

"Because of—?"

"I don't know if that has everything to do with it, but I'd bet money it's part."

Oak scratches his chin and nods before turning to his computer. He pulls up a new window, and with a few keystrokes is met with True's picture. I recognize it from the mantle in her house; it's only been taken in the past year, and it's a damned good one. She looks like she's brushed her hair and she's actually smiling, a genuine smile that's just _happy_. "And True would allow you to come back here?"

 _If I'm still alive?_ "Yes. You can ask her if you want to. She just wants me to start it. She doesn't expect me to... I don't want to finish it. She'll let me go."

Oak opens his mouth to say something, but closes it, and pulls up another file. I recognize it as the template of True's Trainer ID—as the closest thing to a League employee in this tiny town and regional Pokémon Professor, he's the one responsible for giving Trainer IDs to beginning trainers in this part of Kanto.

"I just… she wants out, but she doesn't want to be alone when she does," I say.

"Yes," Oak says, and bows his head, his fingers twisting through what ashen hair remains. "Yes, I know. Arceus knows how long Inza has been asking me to just force her on a journey. She thinks it would be good for her."

"I do, too," I say, almost defensive. "And when she gets up and going, she'll be fine."

Oak turns to me, stares for a moment, and sighs. "I don't have to give you the lecture the other starters got, do I?"

"Vaccinate your wild catches, keep a good stock of medicine, don't be an idiot. True and I have that thing memorized," I scoff. "Have you changed it at all since you started doing this?"

"Now I _know_ you two haven't been listening," he says, and I chuckle.

"Well, I'm going to go get some shut eye. Big day and all that," I say. I jump off of the desk and start toward the door.

"Casey?" Oak calls out, and I stop to turn to him. "It might not be my place to say this, but I think this will be a good beginning for you, as well. Just make an effort to see it out."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod and keep walking past the darkened room. The tiny flames from the Charmanders' tails are the only illumination I need to navigate around. I'm accompanied by the sounds of soft snoring and slight shifting as I hop up a few book cabinets to a shelf I had claimed for my own a while ago. There are plenty of blankets, so it's nice and warm—but the best part is that it gives me an amazing vantage point to spy on people.

It isn't like I'm going to be gone for very long—a week or two, _maybe_ a month tops. I'll be back before I have a chance to really miss it. It's the last thing I think before falling asleep.


	3. Chapter Two

I wake up with the sun glaring straight into my eyes; it might be irritating some days, especially in high summer when it comes up ridiculously early, but I'm thankful for it now. I peek off the side of my bed to see everyone stretching and waking up. They all look like they've just woken up, but their eyes are bright and they still seem excited, so I guess that's a good thing. Because they've just woken up they're still stumbling around; maybe they've forgotten what today is.

That means only one thing: there won't be anyone at the food stock.

I rush down to grab the biggest apple there before scurrying away. That's one perk of being a morning person: I get my shit and get out. Most days it's useful, but today it's a near saving grace, because when one of the starters shouts "JOURNEY DAY" all fifteen starters are scurrying for food and dancing and just acting like complete morons. I roll my eyes and seek higher ground, clinging to the apple for dear life.

Eventually I settle on a comfy(ish) shelf, push a few books away, and chow down. I've got a perfect view of everyone from up here. I don't start every year chomping at an apple like I'm about to die (but who knows, maybe I am) but I make judgments about the starters down there. I think a few of them are going to be alright—there's a Charmander and Squirtle in particular who look like they might possibly be Indigo Plateau material—but there's also a Bulbasaur who, despite looking as excited as any of them, seems weaker than the other of his kind. The knot in my stomach that clenched when I woke up that morning gets tighter, and I wince, suddenly not feeling hungry. There's apple juice stiffening the hairs on my chin; I leave it there, for the moment, intent on saving it as a snack for later. Not like I have amazingly groomed fur anyway.

Among the blues, greens, and oranges of the Starters, munching on food and talking with each other, I see a familiar brown-and-cream shape pushing its way through the mass. The Eevee's pointed ears perk up for a moment. She shouldn't hear my munching in the chaos down below, but she does—warm familiar eyes soon find mine, and she laughs, waving a greeting with her solid-cream tail.

For a few years Cassidy and I had tag-teamed on a few tough cases: a pair of twins who had recently been orphaned and not taking the transition well; an autistic kid who eventually moved with his family to Saffron, where the health care was better; a few painfully shy kids who only opened up when they were around Pokémon. Cassidy had always been a gentle soul, good to work with, and I had always liked her.

When my belly is comfortably full, I chuck the half-eaten apple at her. It lands with a "THUD" that should have startled everyone, but the starters are too wrapped up in new beginnings and the start of my life that they don't notice anything.

Cassidy does, though, and it only takes her a moment to recollect herself before looking up at me. I laugh and she shakes her head, but even from up here I see the smile on her face. She takes the apple, not even caring it has my spit on it, and starts nibbling on it while I make my way down to the floor, pulling up beside her. "Didn't expect to see you here this morning."

"Oak has an assignment for me," she says in between bites.

"I thought you were on assignment already?"

She shakes her head. "No, I've been... busy with other things."

Far be it from me to pry, even though I'm curious as hell. "Well, hell. Good to see you. You working with that Carson kid again?"

And again, she shakes her head, taking another bite out of the apple. "Finished with him— _oh_ Arceus this is good—a week ago." She swallows the bite that's in her mouth and shakes her head, fluffing up the fur around her neck and cheeks. "Actually, I'm… well, I'm heading out."

"Out?" I repeat. "Like on a long distance mission with the attendants or…?"

 _"Out,"_ she stresses. I can feel the oblivious look on my face, so with a sigh she gestures toward the wriggling mass of bodies around us. And then I get it.

Well hell. That's why she's with all the Starters. I wonder if she had been here last night and I just hadn't seen her, or if she had pulled what I had: gotten away from all the others to spend one last night somewhere she knew was safe. "Oh." I didn't figure her to be a battler. I knew she wanted to see the world, sure; but she was one of the best caretaker Pokémon in the system. If I was an assistant I'd be pissed to lose her. Hell, I might. "You know your kid already?"

"Oak's grandson, Gary."

Gary and his sister had moved here six months ago from Fuschia, which had always confused me: who packs up from a Pokémon hotspot to come to a dinky town like Pallet? I know traditionally a Pokémon trainer starts their journey in Pallet Town, formally accepting a starter Pokémon from the Professor; but it isn't uncommon—especially for ones clear on the other side of the country—for kids to get their own Pokémon and start their journeys from home.

Neither of them had gotten their own Pokémon, though, maybe because their family helped to run the Safari Zone and they spent enough time with Pokémon that it felt like an adventure anyway. No, I figured they came here to get the best Starters Kanto could offer, Pokémon especially bred to be good beginning companions. It probably didn't hurt that their grandfather was the most famous researcher this side of Mount Silver. Whatever the case may have been, Gary was probably like any other sixteen year old boy I knew: itching to get the hell out of dodge, and fast.

"I'll be fine," she says, jarring me from my thoughts. It's the one thing that she holds over me: she's able to read my face as though I'm an open book, and it's always been irritating as hell. "You just have to try not to go crazy without me."

I smirk. "You think you're going out on the road all by yourself?"

"Wait—I thought you didn't want to take the journey!" she says, her eyes growing wide. The fact that I'm able to put her off guard is pretty nice, I have to admit.

"I don't. I'm doing this as a favor to one of the kids."

"Which one? I thought I saw Bobby and Maryann playing with a Squirtle and Charmander yesterday...?"

I shake my head. "Think older. Way older."

That's enough to make her understand, and she nods sadly. "She'll need this, I think."

It's what Oak and her mother and every other adult has said for years: she needs to get out on a journey, get her mind off of things. I mean, I agree, but the least this town could do is give her a bit of damn confidence. "She'll be fine."

"Is she excited for her journey?" Cassidy asks with a smile.

I chuckle. "She wouldn't stop smiling after I told her yes."

"I just can't process it, you being her Starter," she marvels, and laughs. "The funny thing is, I can actually see it in my head. You two should make a great team."

"I'm not staying for the whole time. Just until she gets a team of her own, and then she's bringing me back. I'm just going to help her start her journey."

"Sure," she says dismissively. "We'll see how that works out for you."

"Don't push it—"

A high ringing interrupts us, making everyone since. _"Attention all Starters: please report to the main stage. The commencement ceremony will be beginning in half an hour. I repeat, all Starters should report to the main stage..."_

"LET'S GO GUYS, LET'S GO" becomes the mantra of the other starters as they bounce around, rushing madly for the door. Bodies press and brush against me until I'm not sure where I am anymore; Cassidy and I butt heads more than once. By some miracle we manage to slip between bodies until we're the only two in the room. My head is pounding like hell, andI scowl, shaking dust off my body.

Cassidy clicks her tongue. "They could have a little bit of restraint."

"You should have seen them last night. I don't think they got more than a few hours of sleep for today."

"Hmm." She knows what that might mean as well as I do. We share a final look before she extends a paw. "Just try not to get killed, alright?"

"That's a hell of a thing to say," I mutter. But after a short pause I take her paw in mine. "But uh, you too."

We walk together to meet the others, and then are herded by lab assistants—most of them do double-takes, seeing me and Cassidy—to a tunnel that leads to the main stage. Already we can hear a crowd gathering, and the anxious and excited whispers of the kids getting their Pokémon and starting their journeys.

True, for the first time, is among them instead of the audience with her mom. That thought is enough to make me smile. I feel Cassidy brush up against me, and when I turn to look at her she's smiling at me. "Don't tell me you aren't excited for this."

I backpedal, scowling. "I am so ready for this to be over."

"You and I have known each other far too long for that to work on me," she says, as the crowd keeps filling in. "Just relax, alright? You can't do anything if you're tense all the time."

It's one of the bullshit phrases we tell our kids to help them loosen up a bit; being too uptight makes for stress, and stress is never good for kids trying to get past something. As much as I preach it I should be able to practice it without a problem, but I can't.

I can hear more and more people coming into the stadium; the voices surge as someone comes out to give a few ground rules—don't move, no flash photography, shit like that—and threaten to shatter my eardrums when Oak comes to take his place on stage.

"Welcome to the world of Pokémon! My name is Professor Oak, but you can call me..."

I can only just see the excited look on each and every face of each and every Starter; even Cassidy isn't immune to it, with her wide smile and shining eyes. I know what my face looks like: nervous and fucking terrified.

Cassidy's the only one who notices, because when she turns to me her face falls. Part of me feels bad for putting a damper on the "Day That Will Change Your Life," as Oak always calls it; the rest of me is trying not to have a panic attack under the stage. I feel her pressing her cheek against mine, feel her breath tickle my ear.

It's one of her favorite techniques with kids who, just like me, are on the verge of losing it: she gets all touchy-feely with them, pressing herself against them until they start to calm down. And when it doesn't work—like it isn't with me—she starts singing.

That's the one thing that always made me look forward to looking with her: she has a high bell voice that, swear to Arceus, blends perfectly with anyone's, including mine. Nine times out of ten she makes them sound better, too. She'd sing and I'd accompany her with a harmony—and if I could get it, a guitar—and just like magic the kid would calm right down. It made for a spectacle, to be sure, until there came a time when we would perform just because. So because it's such a habit, I start singing with her; just quiet, just for the two of us, so it doesn't even matter that the crowd's going nuts and Oak's still blabbering on.

But there are a few Starters who are looking at us, staring wide-eyed and listening intently. Maybe they're feeling anxious about today, more than they're letting on. I don't give a damn.

It's when all of the Pokémon are walking to our trainers for the Presentation of Starters and IDs that I actually start singing louder. It draws a few stares from the ten year olds standing next to True, but when she hears what I'm singing she smiles, scratching my ear comfortingly.

I'm singing as True is presented with her Trainer's License and badge case; I'm humming as Cassidy is formally paired with Gary Oak, who seems to have actually brushed his hair for the occasion. When the seventeen of us are lined up for the final procession, Starter Pokémon perched on shoulders or sitting dutifully in front of feet, the song is stuck in my head to the point where I don't need to sing it in order to hear it.

As Oak finishes his speech and closes the ceremony—"Remember that we will always be behind you"—she ruffles the fur on my head and, despite myself, I lean into the touch. It keeps me from looking out at the thousand people—usually the entire town comes out for this, but I don't remember it being _this_ many people—and from shaking too hard.

"Ready for this?" True asks me.

It takes me a moment, it does; but at least my voice doesn't break when I answer, "Let's get this over with."


	4. Chapter Three

You'd think that as soon as they get their Pokémon, kids run right to Route One to begin The Journey That Will Change Their Lives, but if you watch enough of these you know better. The first thing a kid does when given their first Pokémon is challenge the closest new kid and challenge them to a Pokémon battle.

I know this, and True knows this, and because we both know that I'm absolutely hopeless at battling we try to slink out of the crowd as quickly as possible. Once we clear the stadium True starts laughing, holding the Trainer License and Badge Case still in her hands high up into the air. "I'm a Trainer!" she shouts into the heavens, shaking her cloud of red hair vigorously.

"We're not out of the woods yet, True, just have to get a little farther." Route One will be saturated with newbie trainers—I can't help but think of the poor ecosystem that's about to be utterly destroyed, just like it is this time every year—in less than a few minute's time, and because it's a short route that means it'll be easier for True to find trainers to battle.

Which should mean me battling. And if I was a normal Starter I'd probably be bouncing up and down like True is—as it stands, I'm pretty impressed that I'm able to walk _period_.

"You're sure there isn't anything you need from home?" I ask. I'm torn between bolting straight for Viridian or camping out at True's for the day, and then starting our journey tomorrow. Or next week. "Like more underwear? Another jacket?"

She's putting her license in her billfold when I ask this, and she looks down at me with a quizzical look. "I thought you'd want to get out of here as soon as possible. So you can come back as soon as possible."

"Well yeah, but did you see the little brats over there? Surely you did. There is no way you could have missed them."

"Look, we're going to be fine," True says. She sounds almost exasperated. "You and me are on the road, and we're heading to Viridian. My mom's finally off my back about staying in the house and moping all the time. Oh, and we're not going out illegally, which is _great_ , and we're... going..."

I stop dead when True starts trailing off. Usually the short distance between the lab and True's house is a blessing; but in a town like Pallet everyone knows everyone, especially where they live. Right in front of her house is Gary, who has fixed his hair back into its usual style. I wonder if his sister forced him into actually making his hair presentable. The thought usually would make me laugh, but I can't do anything right now except try not to run. Because Cassidy's right beside him, and he's got the stupid grin on his face, and immediately I know.

True knows too, because she grits her teeth and balls her hand into a fist. "What are you doing here, Gary?"

The kid's leaning against the side of the white picket fence with his arms crossed. I don't know Gary very well, partly because he hasn't been here all that long and because he doesn't come up to my neck of the woods a lot, but I know that smug smile: it's one I've seen countless times, on arrogant trainers and Pokémon who are so full of themselves they think they can take on Legendaries.

"You know the rules, True," he says. "Just because everyone in this stupid town thinks you're some adorable kid doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

She winces, and I swear to Arceus I start hissing. "It's not what you think, Gary—"

"Oh, it's exactly what I think. But I'm not interested in anything you have to say. Just how you battle."

True turns to me with wide, fearful eyes; I wonder if I looked at all as fearful to Cassidy under the stage as True does to me right now. "Gary, please, Casey isn't—I can't battle with him."

"He's a Pokémon, isn't he?" Gary sneers, looking down at me. "Or has he been cooped up in that lab for so long that he doesn't know how to fight?"

I could tell him off. I could jolt him. I could do anything. I wonder if anyone would even tell me off, or if he's this big of a shit-head to everyone. I can even see the hairs along Cassidy's neck bristle as she turns to Gary with a sharp expression. "Knock it off, Gary," she says.

He has the decency to at least _look_ a little chastised, but that damn fire in his eyes isn't going out. And that means this is going to happen.

"Gary, please, any time but now, just—"

"We're battling now," Gary says, and turns to Cassidy. "You going to help me?"

"I don't see what your problem is, Gary," the Eevee tries, "but—"

" _Tackle,_ " he growls, staring straight at True.

What the hell is going on with this kid? I turn around to ask True this very question, but before I can ask I feel a body slam into me.

Both of us tumble into the ground, throwing up dust. Cassidy is a solid weight on top of my stomach, and I start panicking.

Cassidy leans close to my ear, wearing a fierce expression on her face. "Shh, shh. Casey, listen to me. Calm down."

She cannot be serious about this. I struggle underneath her, but she's got me pinned right where she wants me. I hear Gary throw out a sharp "Looks like you got a dud for a Starter," to which I can only growl at.

Cassidy's breath is warm on my face as she whispers, "Casey, I know you're scared, but you have to trust me, okay? I want you to shock me."

"Like hell," I grit. "Just _get off of me_."

"Please do it, Casey," Cassidy begs, "you're not going to hurt me. I promise. And I'll try not to hurt you, either."

She probably could hurt me. She already has, if the pain in my belly's anything to go by. But I grunt and push her off, sparking electricity.

"Casey!" True yells behind me. I turn around to look, breathing heavily. "You're going to pass out if you hold that energy in."

It's the same old song and dance that Oak always does whenever I start sparking; but like always, I don't want to let it out. It's building inside of me, threatening to explode—but what happens if it does? Do I blow up?

 _"You just have to let it out."_ I remember his voice and my heart drops. _"Just breathe, and—"_

"Now!" True yells, and on her command, I do.

The bolts of energy crash into the ground, against the wooden fence; I hear True yelp and Gary call out "What the hell!" but the power's still going. By the time I stop sparking I'm panting, but that bottled-up feeling is gone at least. I can feel my heart pounding inside my head, for some reason. The exhiliration... I hate to say it, but it feels good. At least I don't feel like I'm going to pop like a balloon.

When I see Cassidy just standing there staring, almost like she's impressed, I look around. There are scorch marks on the ground, and Gary's looking at me with an almost frightened expression on his face. True looks like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. I feel the same way. There's no way in hell that all could have come from me.

"Tail Whip that rat, Cass!" Gary shouts, taking advantage of the sudden stillness. Cassidy winces, but she jumps in front of me and starts slamming my face with her tail. It's not all that hard, at least, but it startles the hell out of me and I try to push her away.

"No, grab her, Casey! Thundershock her!" she blurts. The heat of battle has gotten to her already: she's in Trainer Mode, which means I'm nothing more than a Pokémon. Great.

"Like hell I'm going to do that!" I yell out.

"Then don't grab her," True says, sounding a little exasperated. "Just attack!"

When she goes out to fight for her life, she'll be able to get a say in this.

So I don't grab Cassidy, but I do release another Thundershock; this one hits her, and Cassidy cries out in surprise and pain. I cut the juice immediately, and just as I do Gary cries for another Tackle.

The attack connects, her head slamming into my side. I go flying and hit the fence with a thud and cry out before falling to the ground.

I hear shuffling behind me, a heavy weight settle on my side. Just out of the corner of my eyes I can see True beside me, hands shaking as she stares Gary down and pleads with him to call off the match; but my eyes are on Cassidy, who's coming up to me with a worried look on her face and something in her mouth.

"Wh-Who… told you you could be that good," I manage to get out, shuddering.

She's got something in her mouth and is spraying me with it; I yelp, drawing Gray and True's attention. Immediately I'm starting to feel better. "Practicing on my time off usually helps. Some of those Starters were messing around in the labs, so I needed to get the itch out of their system."

I cough, pushing myself up off the ground. "You mean _you_ needed to get the itch out," I accuse.

Before either of us can reply Gary calls out, "Cass, we're leaving, c'mon." Cassidy and I turn to see an impatient Gary and a forlorn-looking True staring at us.

"Guess you have to go," I say weakly, sitting up from the dirt.

"Yeah," she replies, looking down at the ground. "Casey, I'm so—"

"Cass, come on, we have gym battles to win!" Gary whines. Cassidy looks up to meet at him, and even from here I can see her rolls her eyes. Cassidy sighs, turning toward me—and before I can say anything she presses her face against mine before running toward him with nothing more than a flick of her tail. I watch as the two of them walk down the road that will lead to Route One, and sigh.

Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump, turning up with wide eyes to see True.

She's shaking. Shit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry; she actually looks more shaken up than I feel.

"I don't know what came over me, Casey. I am so, _so_ sorry." She lowers her head and sighs, plopping down on the ground next to me.

It was what she did before she started crying; immediately I pat her cheek, bring her eyes back off the ground to look into mine. "Hey. Hey, look at me."

She shakes her head, so I press a paw against her cheek to try and get her attention. When that doesn't work, I bring my other paw up, like I'm cradling her face. She tries to shake me away, but I settle in for the long haul by pressing my fingers against her face. It anchors her, and finally she stops trying to escape.

"You did good. You did," I protest, holding her head firm when she starts trying to pull away. "Listen. The reason we lost is because I'm a moron."

"You didn't even want to do this," she murmurs. Even if she's right, it's something I can't focus on, because if she starts to break down—in front of her god damn house, probably where her mother can see—we're done for. True _has_ to get on this journey; this was an awful first step, and I know it. But like hell am I going to let this be the only step.

"You're right, I don't. But look at me, I'm... I'm fine." I marvel at that for a moment—I'm not dead, I'm comforting True—before continuing. "I always told you I was a shitty battler, and now you know it. We've both... we've gotta work together on this, alright? This just means we'll have to get teammates faster than I thought, so you can start battling for real." Maybe all she needed was a physical demonstration of why choosing me as a Starter was such a bad idea. Maybe now she'll be motivated to get a team that can actually protect her. "Maybe a Pidgey?" I ask, trying to at least make an effort to excited.

She meets my eyes for two long moments, and finally I get her to smile. It's weak, and it's entirely possible she might break down again, but at this point I'm willing to take this victory after such a devastating loss. "I think I'd be ready for anything at this point."

I chuckle and brush the dirt off my thighs; True gets up and does the same thing. Both of us look at each other for a long moment: we could be reflections in a mirror, the way we're dusting ourselves off. It's a ridiculous thing to think, but it actually makes me chuckle.

"What're you laughing at?" True asks, wiping a hand against her face.

"You," I say simply, turning to the path toward Route One. "Now come on. Out there is a big bad world that's ready to be conquered. Ready to go see it?"

"That sounds like something Oak would say," she says accusingly.

"I worked with the guy for years, True, give me a bit of a break."

That gets her to laugh, at least, which has to mean _something_. I cross my arms and nod, which makes her laugh harder. "Now what?"

"When you fold your arms like that, you look like Gary!"

We're both silent for a moment, and then suddenly we're both laughing.

It's my first damn victory all day.


	5. Chapter Four

"But you're  _sure_ you're alright?"

"I'm fine," I say, for the fifteenth time.

"Because I can take you back home, and we can—"

"Look," I say, and turn to face her. "You have me in your arms, right?"

She's held me in her arms since the botched battle. It's been nice not having to walk on the rocky road between Pallet and Viridian, but it also makes me feel more useless than normal. "Listen, so long as I don't have to battle anymore, we'll be fine."

"Okay," she says, and sighs. "Okay. But what if we get attacked by a wild...?"

"True, we're one of the last groups headed out of Pallet Town. I'm sure we won't—"

"HIYA!"

Then again, I've been wrong before.

Both of us turn to see a sandy bird looking up at us. Dust flies underneath his rapidly-flapping wings. He greets us with a high-pitched squeal, and his beak is wide open.

"Hi," True says weakly, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave.

"You look like a trainer!" the Pidgey shrieks, still beating the ground with his wings.

"Um. Yes? I just started, and—"

"Then you _gotta_  take me with you! Come on, I'll be a good teammate, I'll fight bugs and fly you around and—"

There are times when all you can do is laugh at the crazy, and this is one of them. "Woah, kid—"

"'Cause I mean who needs air balloons these days, everyone knows Pokémon are the way to go—"

"Listen, Pidge," I say, "we—"

"And when I evolve into a big Pidgeot I'll be super fast, like _wssshhhh!_ " he exclaims, kicking up dust with a rapid flap of his wings. "So what do ya think, can I come with ya, can I can I can I?"

It takes me a few seconds to begin articulating a response, but at least the tiny thing isn't talking anymore; I hadn't been expecting that. "Uh, sure. We just, uh, need to get a Pokéball."

"A what?" True asks.

"A _Pokéball,_ " I stress. "So you—"

"I'LL BE GOOD!" the Pidgey screams, fluttering excitedly. "I'll be so good you have no idea, thank you thank you thank you so much!"

True smiles hesitantly as she sets me on the ground. "Uh, okay. Let me just grab a ball out of my pack, and then—"

"IS THAT A PIDGEY?!"

One of the little girls spots us from a short distance away. I remember her: she was the one who had taken the hyperactive Charmander. "Um," I start to say uncertainly, "yes?"

"IS HE YOURS?"

By this point the Pidgey has started going crazy again, flapping up a dust storm. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON BUT I LIKE IT," it screams.

"WELL, IS HE?" the black-haired girl screams.

"Uh, well, no," True stammers, "but—"

"Pokéball GO!!"

Before any of us can say anything a red-and-white sphere flies toward us, hitting the Pidgey square in the beak. With a shout the little guy is absorbed in a flash of red light. True and I both watch the ball turn once... twice...

_DING!_

"THANKS LADY HE LOOKS REALLY CUTE!" The girl trots up in her white sundress like it's absolutely nothing, picks up the ball, and trots off on her merry way.

True and I just stand there for a moment, absolutely dumbfounded. Her hand is still hovering over her slightly-opened pack. "Please... tell me that did not just happen."

"I'm still trying to process it," True says.

After a long pause, True sighs. "I guess we need to go to Viridian City, in case anyone else gets any bright ideas."

"Good idea," I say, and follow after her.

Though she holds a Pokéball tightly in her hand, she doesn't throw it—the few Pidgey and Rattata who poke their heads out go unchallenged, and retreat after a few awkward moments of tense silence. I'm about to ask why, but think better of it.

I'd been to Viridian a few times with Oak when he needed to pick up a few parcels that the local mail Pokémon refused to pick up; it was a decent sized city, I guess, with a large Pokémon Center and some fairly laid-back people. It was also the gateway city to the Pokémon League. Normally that didn't mean much to the locals, but when it came for competition time... well, "going nuts" is probably the nicest way I can describe it.

In the dead season it was just like any other place, I guess. It only takes a few hours to get from Pallet to Viridian, so the sun is still high in the sky; humans and Pokémon stroll around, fairly oblivious to anyone else.

"Wow," says True.

"You think this is bad, try Saffron," I say. "The PokéMart's down this way, let's go."

It's a relatively short walk, thank goodness. I make sure to only keep a few steps ahead of True, because once in a while she'll stop and look around, like she's never been out of Pallet Town in her life. "Beats home, doesn't it?" I say, turning around to see True handling fruit from a vendor.

"Yes, I'll take this, thank you," she says, exchanging a bit of change for a ruby-red apple. "This place could be awful and I'd still love it," she admits.

I come up to nibble a bit of the apple, unable to hide a sly smile as True groans. The rest of the walk there is fairly uneventful after that; when we see the bright blue roof of the Mart I grin. "There it is."

She breaks off into a spring, and I'm left trailing after her. The Mart isn't that big, thank Arceus, so it's not like I can lose her; when I see her by the Pokédolls, I chuckle and shake my head.

I take a little bit of time to stroll down the few aisles; Viridian's Mart might be small, but it's usually well stocked. There're the basics of course: the Balls and Potions, the status healers. But tucked away in a few spots are a few Pokédolls someone forgot to put away, and a handbooks with titles like _Battle Strategies_ and _Bringing Out Your Partner's Potential._

True finds me there, holding a basket. She leans down to see what I'm looking at, and chuckles. "What do you think, should I get one of those?"

It might not be a bad idea. I throw in a copy of _Pokémon Battling for Dummies_ —"Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing, either," I say defensively—as True starts grabbing Balls and Potions, filling her basket until it's full. "You have the money to pay for all that?" I ask.

"There are a few benefits to not starting your journey right away," she says, picking up a few Antidotes before throwing those in, too. "I got a few odd jobs and saved every cent."

Smart, resourceful, and above all confident this was where she was going to be. I feel like a proud papa.

Before I can start going along that mental path, I hear a whistle and turn instinctively. Sitting right behind the counter is a barrel chested man with huge muscular arms, absolutely no hair to his name, and the biggest grin I've ever seen on a man. I laugh, jumping away from True to rest on the counter.

"Hey, my favorite little customer's here!" he greets, ruffling the fur on top of my head with a meaty hand. It's his favorite way to greet people he knows, and... well, he knows me. "What the hell've you been doing since I saw ya last?"

John heads the shop with his brother, Jake, interacting with customers and distributing orders for pick up. Nine times out of ten he'd be the one manning the counter when the old professor came to pick up his packages.

"You know, working," I say dismissively.

"Ah, I feel ya, I feel ya. Ya come to pick up the package for Oak on yer own?"

"Oak has a package?" I say, right as True comes up to us with her basket, already threatening to overflow.

Without skipping a beat John takes the merchandise—and I count: six Pokéballs, ten Potions, three Antidotes—and rings it up as he talks to me. "Yeah, whatever part he was looking for fer one of his gizmo-gadgets. You probably know more about it than I do."

Had he even said anything to me about having to make a trip to Viridian? In all the chaos of today I have no idea of what's up and what's down anymore. "I didn't even know he was expecting anything," I say.

"Well I can give it to ya if you want it. Tha'll be forty-five-hundred, miss, and yer trainer card if ya could..."

True hands the huge wad of cash and her trainer card to John, who gives it a quick glance over before nodding. "Thank ya—wait a minute." He pulls it back, narrowing his eyes to read something on the piece of plastic.

"Is something the matter, sir?" True asks anxiously.

"Nah, it's just… nah, I can't be reading that right. Who's yer Starter, kid?"

And before I can say anything, or even start to wonder what the hell is on that card, True points to me.

John does a double take between me, True, and the card. The look on his face almost looks comedic, but I'm far from laughing. I don't need to anyway, because John starts laughing—and not just laughing, absolutely _losing it_. "Ah HELL, you kiddin' me? Case, I thought you weren't into that whole battlin' thing!"

I snatch the trainer ID from John and slam it on the table, leaving True to pick it up and put it back in her billfold. "It's none of your business, John."

"Like hell it ain't, but I'm still laughin'!" he says, beating his fist against the table.

Well, at least he's enjoying himself. That's just fucking great. "Glad I make you so damn happy. Now give us the package and we'll be out of your hair."

"Touchy, sheesh. Hahaha, alright," he says, and starts calming down. "It's righ' here," he says, pulling out a brown box. FRAGILE is written across it in big block print. For the life of me I have no idea what's in the box, but right now I'm too mad to ask. "Just take that straight to Oak, I think he'll 'preciate it."

"Yeah, thanks," I say. By now True has placed all of her items in her bag, pulled it up onto her shoulders, and taken the brown box. "See you later, John," I say, jumping off the counter and heading for the door.

"Sure thing! Tell the ol' coot I said hi for him!"

True and I exit the shop and walk a ways before I stop, sighing. "Sorry about that," I say, looking up at True. "I didn't creep you out too badly, did I?"

"No, but... you're okay?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, John can be pretty damn annoying—"

"Not that," she says. True tucks the box under her arm and pulls her billfold out again, gesturing it to me. "I mean about being on my card and everything. Is that... are you okay with that?"

I have no idea why they even do that; putting the Starters on the damn trainer cards is a cool thing for a kid to see at first, sure, but it's not like Starters are more likely to survive this journey than any other Pokémon a trainer has on their team. It's a recipe for disaster, and it's cruel. I had no idea Oak even still did it.

It also means that, unless True starts telling people that I'm dead after we part ways, I'm going to be under a lot of pressure to stick with her for the long haul. And I'm not sure if I want that, yet.

"For right now let's just get this package to Oak. Now that you have some Balls, we might be able to start building you a team."

We walk over toward the two southern paths out of Viridian: Route One, of course, leads back to Pallet. Route Twenty Two doesn't have much for new trainers, except—

"Follow me!" I shout suddenly.

The mountain path leading to the Elite Four is the final destination for experienced trainers hoping to take on Victory Road, but it has its uses for beginning trainers as well: a home to a few rare species who mostly dwell in mountains and high forests, at relatively low levels. In other words, a perfect place to catch a new teammate.

I'm fast enough that I put a great amount of distance between myself and True, who already isn't an experienced runner without having to deal with a fragile package. (Oops.) But even I have my limits; cuddling and talking don't leave that much time for physical activity, and soon I start feeling my body start to stiffen up and ache. When I finally can't feel my legs anymore I stop, leaning on a rock to catch my breath.

"When the hell did I get so out of shape?" I wheeze, grabbing on to my rock for dear life.

"You sure don't look too good, mister. You okay?"

I nearly shit myself leaping up to face my new companion: sitting on top of the rock I was just clinging to is a solidly-built female Nidoran, grinning at me with mischievous brown eyes. "I'm," I start to say, but I start coughing obnoxiously.

"Sure. You know, I've never seen a Pikachu look so..."

"So _what_ ," I hiss.

"Out of shape," she says simply, shrugging her shoulders.

"None of your concern." Well, it might be a little bit of one; I feel like I'm about to throw up. Note to self: cut back on the apples. "What're you even doing up there, anyway?"

"It's my rock," she says, patting it with an impressively clawed paw. "I figure if I stand on top of this rock long enough I'll see a trainer who'll want to take me."

"Pretty smart plan you have there," I say. My plan is already starting to unfold—

"CASEY!"

—And right on time, True shows up. "Like Pokémon like trainer," I hear the Nidoran mutter, and look up to see her staring at True, who's red faced.

"Listen here, you little—"

But by that point True is in hearing distance, and I stop. I'm still glaring as True comes up to the rock, still panting. "I've been... looking everywhere for you! Why the hell did you," she starts, but has to stop to catch her breath again. "Why'd you run off?"

"Well, you see—"

"Excuse me," I hear someone ask above me. I have to look around to see if anyone else is here, because there's no way that demure little voice could have come from that little punk; but sure enough, no one's there, and the Nidoran is staring at True with wide Growlithe-eyes. "Is this your Starter, miss?"

"Uh, yeah," True says. She sounds confused. With the sudden flip from cheeky to sweet, I'm confused, too. "Did he hurt you or anything?"

"Oh no! No, we were just talking, weren't we... Casey, wasn't it?"

"Sure," I grumble.

"Be nice," True whispers, and I roll my eyes. "Are you waiting for anyone in particular?"

"Well, if you're a trainer hoping to add someone like me onto your team, then nope. Not waiting for anyone."

This cannot be happening.

"Would you want to be part of our team?!" True asks excitedly.

A Nidoran with a smart mouth is definitely  _not_ the best choice for a first Pokémon.

"Absolutely!" the Nidoran chirps, leaping toward True with spines tingling.

"THOSE ARE POISONOUS," I yell, but True already has a ball pressed up against the incoming Poison Pin Pokémon; she dissolves in a flash of red light, and the ball doesn't even shake in her hand before it _DING_ s.

Then again, though, I'd sort of lost my right to pass judgment, hadn't I?

True doesn't say anything, at first; she stares at the ball in her hand as though she's been given an item of great religious importance. I'm almost about to say something before she yells excitedly, thrashing her arms—if I hadn't ducked, she probably would have decked me. Her excitement has me laughing, too, and even though I'm still a little mad it isn't as bad as it was.

"Good job, kiddo. But—"

"I can't believe I did it!" she laughs. She's beaming as she turns to look at me. "I actually... I [i]did it.[/i]"

I smile, and nod. "You did."

"I should... should I let her out?" she asks.

"Probably," I say, "though I don't really know—"

I don't get a chance to finish. With an upward toss, the Pokéball is flung up into the air, releasing the small blue Pokémon who at least  _looks_ excited. When she turns to me, though, that smile turns into a smirk. The hair on my back bristles.

Completely oblivious, True bends down to the two of us, smiling harder than anything. "So, uh, welcome to the team! I'm True, and I guess you know Casey already... what's your name? Or do you need me to give you one?"

"Do you have anything that tops Kerri?" the Nidoran asks, shaking her bristles out.

"Well, no, I don't think so. Kerri it is, then!"

"Great." Kerri turns to me, looks up and down for a moment, and then without a word extends a paw in my face. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. This thing's exciting for me and I tend to get out of control. Can we start over?"

"Uh... what?" True asks.

But even if it's a bit forward, I know an apology when I hear one. So I smile, taking the outstretched paw in mine, and shake. "Sure thing, kiddo."

Kerri grins, and I have to admit—when she's not overdoing it or being very bitchy, she's got a nice smile. "So I guess I have to play second fiddle to this guy until I prove myself?"

True laughs nervously, and it's my turn to smirk. "How about we get out of here, and I'll get you up to speed on this whole situation."


	6. Chapter Five

"So let me get this straight. You're her Starter."

"Right."

"But you're not _really_ her Starter, just her... temporary bodyguard?"

"Yes."

It sounds dumb when you explain it, but that's what I have to do: until I get off of this team, I have to repeat this song and dance so that every member knows that my place on the team is different than [i]their[/i] place. True builds a team; she brings me back to Pallet; I get to continue doing what I was doing before and wait for True to come home, preferably not dead.

The walk back to Pallet is short, thank Arceus, but it's long enough to explain to Kerri just what she had gotten herself into.

"You know this is the dumbest thing I've ever heard, right?" Kerri asks, turning to True. "You were _that_ desperate to get out on the road that you'd take this fat-ass—"

"Hey now—"

"And just let him ditch you? Last I heard, that's not what Starters are supposed to do."

True shrugs. "I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do, Kerri. He's doing me a huge favor for doing this, even if..."

"What, is he a terrible battler or something? Because there's a way of fixing that," she says, smiling mischievously.

"No. I'm here until True builds a team, that's it and that's all. So you're the one who has to start pulling their weight."

" _That's_ funny, coming from—"

"Knock it off, you two." True sounds exasperated, rubbing her hand against her forehead like she's got a headache. I might join her at any moment. "There's no need to fight like this, because this is how it's going to be!" Both Kerri and I stare up at her, shocked; True looks at us with a frown, her hands shaking. "Now let's get this package to the Professor and we'll finally get started on our journey." And without another word she storms off.

"Is that even safe?" Kerri asks.

"It's just Pidgey and Rattata around here. And I'm sure with the influx of trainers that got sent out of here, a lot of them have either been captured or are hiding from trainers like us." I shake my head, but then start walking toward True. With my luck they'll come out just for her.

"Wait up!" Kerri closes the gap quickly, headbutting me. "So explain me this, then. If you didn't want to go on a journey anyway, when I know for a fact there are plenty of Pokémon that would give their heads for a chance at one—"

"Why am I doing it? If this was any other kid I wouldn't be." I leave her at that and run off, leaving the Nidoran behind me.

It doesn't take me long to find True; her hands are firm in her pockets, and the package is tucked securely underneath her arm. I approach wordlessly, looking up at her face. She and I don't say anything, not breaking eye contact even when Kerri comes up to us.

Finally, after a few minutes of staring at each other, True sighs. "Even if we're not a team for very long, we have to work together. I don't want to fight with either of you, and I don't want you fighting with each other. Can we... can we just do that? Please?"

I hang my head, kick the ground, sigh. "Sure. Sorry—"

"Don't say something if you don't mean it," True interrupts. The words take me aback, and I'm unable to say anything; I can only stare blankly as True starts walking off again, adjusting the package so that she's gripping it with both hands. There's only one little patch of grass until we hit Pallet Town, and she strides through it seemingly confident.

I feel like an absolute piece of shit.

"Wow. Way to make someone feel like a piece of shit," Kerri says. She sighs and turns toward me with a gleam in her eyes. "Guess we're not making good on that 'fresh start,' huh?"

"No, we're not. I don't know what to do," I finally say.

"Well, I do," Kerri says, shoving me lightly. "Stop being such a crybaby. You may feel like you're better than the rest of us 'normal Pokémon'—"

"No I don't! And since when—"

"You do, so shut up. Both of you seem to be missing some really crucial fact, and I don't know how even _I_  can know this when I've never had a trainer."

I sit down, rubbing the back of my head. "And what's that, Kerri," I sigh.

"You're not going home anytime soon." I look up, startled, which makes Kerri scowl. "No, don't make that face at me, listen. We're going to Pallet Town to drop off that box, right? I don't think you're going to leave True with someone who's only known her for five seconds on a journey that could kill her. So you stay, offer your dumb 'moral support' or whatever crap you're going on about. We catch a few Pokémon. Hell, maybe we even win a few badges!

"And then you come back here and you keep on living your stupid little life, doing whatever stupid things you were doing. But damn it, just think about if something happens. And we all die. And it's because of some killer bird or... demonic fish thing! Something that, if you'd been there and you knew how to fight, you could have saved us from. You want to sentence us to death because you have a problem being what the hell you are? Is that supposed to be the 'Master Plan'? Because if that's what this is all leading up to, I think you should have thought about this before you told that girl you'd go with her."

"If you knew anything about my life, you little—"

"If you're even think of going all _oh boo hoo, my life has been so hard_ , then you can shut up right now," Kerri screeches. She's terrifying when she's angry—I haven't been around aggressive Pokémon in a long time. I'm terrified, to the point where I can feel my cheeks sparking.

She notices. "Good! I was afraid you weren't high enough a level to even do _that!_ You wanna prove how much you care about this girl? You take this stupid angst you have and shove it up your fat ass and start behaving like a proper Pokémon!"

I can feel my lip curl, and my body stiffen; but even though I'm still sparking I don't move toward her. I won't indulge her.

"Before you decide to lead this girl on any farther, you think about what I said. If you're not going to pull your weight, just stay here. If you need to find me, I'll be with _my trainer_ ," she hisses. The disgusted look on her face hurts me just as much as her words did—she's looking at me like I'm a piece of trash. And finally, finally, she leaves me in the grass and dirt to think about 'what I've done.' Like I'm a Pichu or something. Like I should care.

But I don't care. I shouldn't, because it's none of her fucking business. And it makes me so fucking _angry_ that I let a Nidoran who doesn't even know me come in and make _judgments_ about my character.

For some stupid reason, it reminds me of my brother.

That exploding feeling starts surging in my belly again, and with a cry I release it: electricity strike the ground and the trees, scorching the earth and burning the greenery. I release and release and release, and I scream and scream and scream, until I can't scream anymore and I can't push out another volt. I collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily—but unlike last time, I don't feel _quite_  as tired. Not as inept.

I hear something move behind me and whip around to see Kerri and True, staring at me wide-eyed and open mouthed. I roll my eyes and push myself up, unsteady on my feet. Between flashes I see True rush toward me, True picking me up in her arms, True's concerned face, True against blue sky.

I don't hear Kerri's words as I fade out of consciousness.

* * *

 

When I wake up, the first thing I see is gray: gray walls, gray ceilings, gray-and-white tiled floors. Part of me wonders if I've shocked myself into colorblindness; and then I wonder if that can even happen. I push against the ground, cold and hard, until I'm at least sitting up. There are huge glass structures dripping odd-colored chemicals everywhere. I turn my head to the side to see a large machine, red and blue lights blinking merrily. I rub my head, wincing when I feel tender spots. I feel a little sore, but it's nothing too bad. I'll live. Probably.

I jump when I hear nails clicking on the tile floor, and grunt when I see Kerri striding up to the elevated counter. With a few well-placed jumps—she's got a lot of strength in those back legs; who knew?—she's up on the table with me, staring at me with that damned smirk on her face. "Well good morning, sleepyhead. Have a good nap?"

"How long've I been out?" I murmur. She needs to stop talking so loudly.

"Well, it was late afternoon when you decided to burn all of Route One. It's morning now. So I guess not all _that_ long."

Half a day isn't bad, I guess, but still. Shit. "Is True alright?"

"She's fine; a little surprised to see her Sta—sorry, _bodyguard_ —blow up like a Graveler, but surprisingly okay. Went to go pick a few things up from her Mom, she should be back any minute."

Arceus. If we're in Pallet and True's at her Mom's, that means we're in the lab. Which mean Oak should come—

And just like that he's there, wearing his white lab coat and everything. "I hear you gave a few people quite a scare, Casey. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know," I say with a smirk. "Ready to take on the Elite Four."

"That would work if I didn't know you so well," he chuckles, bringing a stool to sit beside me. "Thank you for bringing that package to me, by the way. It had a few parts that were essential to a project I'm working on."

I'm almost tempted to ask what it is he's working on, but I stop when pain shoots up my upper arm. I start to massage it, but Oak immediately takes it and applies light pressure, rubbing his thumb in circles against the bone. It feels really [i]really[/i] good, and I sigh.

"So he's going to live, Professor Dude?"

I whip toward Kerri—wincing again—but Oak, still massaging, only laughs. "Of course he is. Kerri, wasn't it?" At Kerri's nod, he smiles. "He just isn't used to all of this excitement. A few days on the road and some rest, and I'm sure Casey will be to his old self."

"His cranky self, right?" Kerri mutters, and even though it's rude I chuckle. The Professor outright laughs, patting my arm as he takes his hand away. "So see, I was right wasn't I? You can actually be a Pokémon and not kick the bucket. How does that feel?"

"Like I want to kick your ass," I say, which only makes her laugh. Maybe this is a wild Pokémon thing, because no tamed Pokémon in Pallet Town acts like this. No tamed Pokémon that I've met recently, anyway.

I hear the door open down the hall, and all three of us turn to see True enter the room with nervous eyes. The second she sees me she sighs, rushing up to me to engulf me in a hug. Professor Oak backs away with a slightly surprised look on his face, which makes me laugh a bit. "Oh, Arceus," True whimpers. "Thank goodness you're alright."

"Yeah," I say. True pulls away to look me square in the eye, and I look away. "Look, I'm—"

And just like lightning, she slaps me.

"Now really, True—" Professor Oak begins. Kerri looks like she's about to have a heart attack, she's so happy.

"Don't you _ever_ do anything like that again, or I swear to Arceus I'm gonna... I'll..." I'm too shocked to try to stop her from crying, but I don't have to; she buries her face in my chest and it's all I can do to pat her head comfortingly.

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon. Nothing to worry about," I say. "Can't get rid of me that fast."

"Yeah, until you leave for good," Kerri mutters. True looks up to glare at the Nidoran, but I poke True to get her attention. When she looks at me, eyes still glistening, I hang my head and sigh. I'm fully aware that Oak is watching us, probably wondering what the hell is going on.

"Look. I might not be the best at this whole... battling thing. But if you... I uh... What I'm trying to say is—"

"He'll go with you as far as Vermilion," Kerri suddenly announces.

The coastal city was not what I had had in mind—it's noisy and crowded, and the only way to get to Pallet on foot is through Diglett Cave. But I figure it's a far enough place for True to have assembled a team. By then she'll have three badges, and her Pokémon should be strong enough to take on the Cave. They all will be fine without me.

I turn to Kerri, who nods. I'm pretty sure that if I try and say anything that isn't "yeah sure, sounds great!" she'll come and beat me up. If I'm right about how powerful she is, it'll be a painful experience.

True's eyes look like they could pop out of her head, and Oak is looking at me with the dumbest smile on his face, and nodding. "R... Really?" True asks.

I nod.

"Does that mean—?"

"I won't leave you... Not right now," I grumble.

She's smiling so hard that it almost makes me smile. Kerri comes to sit beside me, and I roll my eyes. "Just until Vermilion, though. And then you take me back!"

"I think I can work with that," True says, smiling.

"Well, I think now would be the perfect time to give you all something very special. If you would follow me outside," he says, and stands up.

True begins to pick me up, but I push her hands away. "I'm fine to walk, I've got it." I might be a little sore, but I'm not completely hopeless, damn it. I jump off the table, managing to only wince a little; Kerri follows, hardly phased. Damn it. "Let's go see what the old fart wants."

"I heard that," Oak says. He's not that slow of a walker, even if his age creeps up on him sometimes, which might mean we don't have to go far to meet him. Sure enough, the room that I'd been sleeping in was only down the hall from the main library, where Oak kept almost all of his hard-copy research material. He walks us to a large oak table—he's always had something for puns—where there are two shiny red electronic things resting.

"It is my responsibility, as you know, to give Pokémon trainers their Starter Pokémon so they might go on their journeys. But sadly, a majority of those trainers never finish their challenge. Whether it is because of their own lack of skill, or unfortunate circumstances, they are forced to come back home empty-handed and make a life for themselves outside of battling." Oak sighs, folding his arms limply across his chest. I guess that's where Gary picked up the habit. At least the Professor doesn't look like a douche when he does it.

"But there are trainers who come along every now and then who show promise, who just might make it through the gym challenge. And then there are even a few who challenge the Elite Four." Oak picks up one of the red devices, polished and gleaming in the sunlight, and hands it to True. She takes it, examining it delicately.

"That is an electronic encyclopedia of Pokémon data, used to document your catches and show you the status of your Pokémon—moves, strengths and weaknesses in battle, typings. I call it a Pokédex for short."

Carefully, True slides her thumb over the shiny cover of the Pokédex. It's slim in her hands, but looks hi-tech and important. "This is really cool, Professor Oak," True says hesitantly, "but I don't understand why you're telling me all of this."

Kerri's grinning from ear to ear, and I chuckle. "It means that he thinks you have what it takes to go all the way."

The Pokédex nearly slips from True's hands, and she looks up in a panic. "P-Professor, I don't know if I—I don't—"

"True, the fact that you've managed to convince Casey to not be completely opposed to going on a Pokémon journey is reason enough for me to give you one of these. Call it an instinct if you must," he says, smiling kindly, "but I think you have a knack for battling."

"O-Oh," she says. She looks down at me and Kerri, and then back at the Pokédex, before smiling. "I'll... thank you, Professor," she says, slipping into a polite bow. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"You won't," he promises.

Something's bugging me, and I can't quite put a finger on it. I look to the other Pokédex, an identical copy of the device True is slipping into her other pocket, and narrow my eyes. "Is there someone else you're looking for, or is that other Pokédex just for show?"

"Oh! Yes, that one has a home already. Or it will, if you'd be willing to find him."

"Him, sir?" True asks.

"My grandson, Gary."


	7. Chapter Six

Seeing the damage you've done outside of a rage is an odd experience. Long gashes mark the trunk of a tree close to the white fence separating Pallet from Route One, so deep that I can almost see the inner flesh of the tree. There are scorch marks littering the ground, and patches of burned-away grass.

"You're saying... I did this?" I ask. There's a lump in my throat, and despite clearing it several times, it doesn't quite go away.

"Well unless there's been another delirious Pokémon around here recently, I think the signs all point to you, asshole."

"Kerri, enough," True says. Kerri shrugs, but, to my relief, she shuts up. True looks down at me with a soft smile. "Just remember that he's probably strong enough to really hurt you."

It's a possibility that's definitely entertaining, to say the least. I perk my ears up and turn to Kerri, who for the first time actually looks nervous. I smirk. "Guess you better stop teasing me. Unless," I say, pointing to the wounded tree, "you want to look like that."

"I evolve into a ground-type," Kerri mutters, but shakes her head before walking off. I watch with interest as the stocky Nidoran goes to investigate the tree—not old, by any means, but it'd probably be strong enough to support the weight of a family of Pidgey at least—and scratches the bark. She does this a few times, pausing between each swipe, until there are a few gashes of her own underneath the deep mark my Thundershock made. She turns toward True and me, and even from a distance I can see her usual confident expression has returned. "Just don't forget, I'm just as strong as you are."

I laugh, shaking my head. In the short time from when she's been captured to now, I only know a few things about Kerri: she can be a rude little bitch, she's stubborn as hell, and she knows what she wants. I can admire that, even if it sometimes makes me want to throttle her.

True walks up to Kerri, placing a hand on top of the blue Pokémon's head and scratching behind her ears. "You're going to be super strong," she promises, picking Kerri up and holding her in her arms. "But before we do anything, we have to go give this Pokedex to Gary."

"And then it's training time!" Kerri says triumphantly, pounding a small fist into the air.

"You bet," True laughs. She grunts when I run up, climbing her expertly before settling onto her shoulder. "You want to catch a lift, too?"

"Hey, I had a rough day yesterday. A little walk won't hurt anybody, will it?" I ask, laughing when Kerri sticks her tongue out at me.

"Oh, what the hell," she says, and starts to walk off.

Whether it's because of my stunt yesterday or because the local population is still recovering from the massive catch-period, we don't encounter very many wild Pokémon. I spot a few Pidgey looking at us from the trees, ruffling their feathers; and a few Rattata stare at us from the grasses, their bright eyes gleaming. I look at them, too, from the high point on True's shoulder, before they scurry away. Maybe they're afraid True will see them, too, and try to catch them. I wonder if they care.

It passes like that until we hit Viridian. Hardly anything has changed, even though a day has passed: people and Pokémon are still strolling around, minding their own business. Some old man is cleaning the sigh pointing to Route Twenty Two and the Pokémon League, fixing some detail work with an expert's touch. I wonder if that's his sign. I don't really care to ask.

"So we're trying to look for this Gary kid?" Kerri asks, still in True's arms.

"Yeah. But he could be anywhere," I say.

True's silent for a moment, and then sighs. "If I know Gary like I think I know him, he'll try to get as far and as fast as possible."

"So we're going on a wild goose chase?" Kerri asks. "Will we get to beat someone up, at least?"

"We'll definitely be training," True says. "And I think we have all the supplies we need, so... I guess on to our next adventure!"

"WHOO!" Kerri shouts. She struggles a bit before jumping out of True's arms, shaking herself out. "I know the way to the next route, follow me!"

Luckily for True and I, who are still a little tired from yesterday, Kerri isn't a fast runner, so we don't lose track of her. It's a straight shot from where we are now to outside city limits, and while some passerby watch with interest and surprise when we rush past them, none of them say anything. There's only a small hill that opens up to Route Two, which looks almost the same as Route One—more trees, I notice, as a cool breeze brushes past us and sways the leaves and grasses. What's better: not a trainer in sight. I almost sigh with relief.

By the time True and I make it to the top of that tiny hill, Kerri is waiting for us, waving. "Come on, it's not that far of a walk!" True and I take a moment to catch our breaths before making it down the slight incline to meet Kerri. "You two are such Slowpokes. Sheesh. We gonna find a team mate or—?!"

She's interrupted by a purple blur that slams into her and sends her flying. I run over to her, cheeks beginning to spark, but stop when I hear rustling from the other side. A monstrous Pidgeotto soars from the tall grasses, talons extended as it flies toward Kerri—

The energy releases from me, and I send a Thundershock toward the demon bird. The attack connects, and the Pidgeotto squeals in pain, collapsing onto the ground. From the corner of my eye I see True rush over to Kerri. Deciding that they're okay, for the moment, I turn to meet our attacker.

"The hell was that for?" the Pidgeotto groans, pushing itself up off the ground to look at me with menacing eyes.

"The hell were _you_ doing, rushing us like that?" I growl, cheeks sparking. That's enough to make the Pidgeotto hold his wings up. If he had a white flag, he'd be waving it.

"Just looking for a meal. Arceus, you didn't have to shock me like that."

"Well, we're off the menu. Get out of here and grab some Caterpie or something."

"There're _bug catchers_ in the Forest, man. No prey in their right mind is out right now, and those that are have Trainers with them. 'M a lone bird, you know? Rather not get captured."

Well, that's definitely something I can understand. "So what're you after?"

The Pidgeotto simply gestures to Kerri. Warily I take my eyes off of him to look at Kerri—and then I notice the small purple rat behind her. What little I can see of the Rattata is shaking violently, eyes bright with fear. "Scrawny, by he looked like enough to make a good meal. Guess I'm out of luck, though."

"Yeah," I say simply. "Hope you find something, I guess," I say.

The Pidgeotto mutters something under his breath that I can't hear, before hobbling a bit and then taking flight. At least he was kind enough to leave the smell of burned feathers in his wake. Joy.

I sigh, making sure the huge bird is gone, before walking to the huddled trio. "Everyone okay?" I ask.

"M-M-Wow that was b-b-brave," the Rattata stutters. "Th-Thanks."

"Killer birds, I'm telling you," Kerri says. I only scowl.

"Good job, Casey," True says, and I roll my eyes. She turns her attention to the shivering Rattata, going in to pet his head—but immediately he flinches away, shrinking lower into the dirt.

"S-S-Sorry, but I-I'm... s-s-still a little sh-shaken."

"Oh. That's okay," True says, though I can tell she's a little hurt. "Does that, uh, happen a lot?"

He's definitely not the fittest Rattata, I'll say that much; I can see ribs underneath his patchy fur, and he's twitching so nervously I'm almost afraid he's going to have a seizure. There's something off-putting about his eyes, which are a weird rusty amber—but they seem clear, though, so at least I don't have to worry about some sort of eye infection. "W-Well yes, b-but a-at least I haven't been e-eaten y-y-yet."

"Well by the way you crashed into me, you're not weak," Kerri groans, wincing. That surprises me, and I look to the twitchy rat with interest. "And you're fucking fast."

"If you want, you could join us," True offers, extending a hand toward the Rattata again. The purple rat looks at it with a wary look on his face, but after a moment he extends a shaking paw toward her.

"I-I guess a-anything's better than g-getting eaten."

"Well when you put it _that_ way," I grumble. Kerri must have overheard me, because she laughs.

True starts fishing out a ball out of her bag, so I walk up to the Rattata, who at least seems to be calming down a little. "So do you have a name?"

"Uh, P-Peter," he says.

"That's a nice name," True says. An enlarged Pokéball is in her hand; Peter takes it and studies it a bit, knocking a fist against the surface. "You just push the button and it'll register you as one of my Pokémon. And I'll let you out right after."

Peter nods, but doesn't do anything for a little bit. He's just looking at the ball, turning it this way and that, until he finally pushes the button at the center with more force than I had expected. Peter gets sucked up in a flash of red, and the ball rolls back and forth before clicking with a loud _PING._

Just like she promises, True immediately releases him. Peter materializes, looking around nervously before shaking himself. "Th-That's going to take a bit of ge-getting used to," he says.

"You do get used to it," Kerry says sagely, nodding her head as if she's been in a Pokéball all her life instead of less than a day. "Soon it'll seem like second nature."

"O-Oh," says Peter. "W-Well I... I-I g-guess we're going to g-get moving?"

"Yeah, to Pewter. How well do you know this area?" I ask, looking north. There's a huge forest up ahead, blocking out anything beyond the other side.

"Oh-Okay. It-It's not th-that b-bad. Th-There're a bunch of w-wild Pokémon and s-some trainers now, t-too, though. S-So you'll need to be—"

"Prepared, ready for fighting, blah blah blah," Kerri says. She hops a little way away from us, and when we don't start immediately following, the little Nidoran groans. "C'moooon! Let's get going, I wanna beat up someone already!"

True laughs and gestures us to all get going; Peter hangs back to turn to me, shaking. "I-Is she always like th-that?" he asks.

"Kid, you haven't seen the half of it," I say, shaking my head.

"I heard that!"


	8. Chapter Seven

For the first few seconds, Viridian Forest was actually pretty peaceful; I could hear a few Pidgey chirping, the sun was hidden just enough so that it wasn't too cool, but not too warm; and there was a gentle breeze that brushed against my cheeks. The four of stood there for a few moments, enjoying the serene atmosphere—

But immediately it seemed that the entire forest shrieked, "BATTLE US!" and suddenly there were bug catchers.

Everywhere I looked I could see yellow straw hats and nets. No wonder that Pidgeotto was so freaked out and desperate to hunt out of here. I shudder; Peter shrieks and scurries up to perch on True, who looks just as freaked out.

Leave it to Kerri, however, to shout out, "BRING IT ON!"

"I swear to Arceus you are going to get us killed, girl," I mutter.

"Ah, come on, party-pooper, live a little!" She's bouncing up and down on her feet like she's about to piss herself; I wonder if she's about to, she looks so excited. She did manage to beat a few wild Pokémon on the way here—Peter could only watch fascinated, and I have to admit I was a little shocked to see her in action—but even I know there's a difference between wild Pokémon and those trained by trainers.

One of the bug catchers, a short little boy in suspenders and one of those damn straw hats, perks up upon hearing Kerri's plea, and rushes to us with his finger pointed. "I challenge you to a battle!"

True blinks. "Uh—"

"Bring it on, punk!" Kerri exclaims, bending down to show her spines.

I look up to True, who shrugs; Peter's on True's shoulder and, while he's still shaking, is looking on with interest. Gary might have been me and True's first official battle with another trainer, but there's been some time between then and now. We've gotten a bit stronger, we've gotten a few teammates, we have supplies... Maybe this will actually be fun.

With a smirk and a flick of his wrist, he sends the Pokéball flying—the red-and-white sphere opens, sending a flash of white light. Kerri curls excitedly, True and Peter are watching with bated breath—

And then the white light fades to reveal a Caterpie. The green insect looks around a little bit between its trainer and us before making its way toward a tree. I snicker; it's obviously way more interested in its next meal than a fight. I almost feel bad for the poor kid, who slaps his hand against his face. "Cat, no, come back over here, you're battling!" he whines.

"Fooooood," the Caterpie whines, still inching toward the tree.

Kerri wastes no time rushing up to it, striking the insect with sharp claws and a "HI-YAH!" The Caterpie—well, Cat I guess—squeaks and tumbles onto the grass, skidding a few inches before pushing itself up.

"You're not gonna go down that easily, Cat! Use String Shot to slow it down!"

I swear the thing is glaring, and it creeps me out. But I watch as Cat shoots out a string of white... _something_ , which wraps around Kerri. She falls to the ground, kicking out violently. "THIS IS GROSS," she exclaims, and I can't help my snickering. She immediately glares at me, snarling "SHUT UP," and I can't really help but offer a thumb's up.

"Now that she's slowed down, Tackle!" the bug catcher commands. With more speed than I expected the Caterpie lunges toward Kerri. I expect it to be a hard hit, but when it does connect, Kerri hardly moves. She doesn't even grunt.

"Scratch it, Kerri!" True shouts, and Peter squeaks excitedly.

"Roger that!" Kerri exclaims. Even though it's not as fast as before, she does manage to get one paw free to catch Cat in the body, lodging her claws into the Caterpie's body. It probably looks as comfortable as it looks—which is to say, not at all.

"OOOOOW!" Cat screams, and manages to pull away. Bits of blood fall from the wound onto the grass. Cat pulls itself into a ball as Kerri starts working on freeing herself from the hardening String Shot. It takes a few moments, but since Cat is intent on not attacking anymore—and really, I can't say I blame him—Kerri's out with hardly a scratch.

"Aaah! Cat, you're done, come back," the kid says, pulling Cat back into his ball.

"Who's next?!" Kerri shouts, wiggling.

"Well, uh, that's all the Pokémon I have. You win, I guess."

That can't be it, can it? I almost feel bad for Kerri, who looks like she's about to kill someone. "Rip-off!" she scowls, but doesn't do anything else.

"You did good. Here," the bug catcher says, pulling some cash out of his pockets and handing it to True. "I gotta get Cat to the Pokémon Center, but thanks for the battle!" Without another word he rushes to the end of the forest, disappearing through the trees.

"My first trainer battle was against a kid and his dumb bug. Figures," Kerri whines.

"Hey, at least you won," I say.

"I can't even call that a win!" Kerri exclaims. She falls onto the ground in a huff, and I have to do all I can to not scowl at her. I feel like I'm doing that a lot lately.

"Kerri, cheer up," True says. "We've only just stepped into this forest, there're bound to be other—"

"Well, well, well. I thought I smelled a rat."

The four of us turn to see none other than Gary Oak himself staring at us, arms crossed in front of him with that damned sneer on his face. "Fitting, considering who your—"

"Hi to you too, Gary," True sighs. Kerri perks her ears up and Peter starts bristling. The first thing I'm looking for is any other trainers who might be attracted to this showdown.

The second is right behind Gary, peering behind his leg. Cassidy's eyes light up slightly when she sees me, but she's staying right where she is. I wave a paw to say hello, and she smiles softly, returning the gesture.

"I thought you would have been out of this forest by now," True says.

"I'm training for the gym," Gary replies with a shrug. "I hear Brock's got some seriously tough Pokémon, and I want to beat him first try. Already seen a few kids from Pallet strike out. Maybe you'll even see a few of the losers on the way there."

"They're just kids, Gary," I hear Cassidy chastise. "Give them a break."

"They're old enough to go out on a journey, they're old enough to be criticized." I can't help but feel like he's right, in a way. It sucks to partially agree with Gary Oak.

"Well, I'm glad we found you. Your grandfather wanted me to find you and give you this." True fishes the other Pokédex from her bag and offers it to Gary. There's still a few feet of space between them, but it's obvious from the way True's standing that she's not going to be walking to him.

From the way Gary's standing, neither is he.

"For Arceus's sake," I scowl. I jump up and grab the Pokédex and walk over toward Cassidy, who meets me halfway. "Kids these days, I swear."

"They're still learning," Cassidy says. She looks me up and down and smiles, swaying her tail back and forth. "You're looking stronger already."

"So're you." She doesn't even have any wounds on her. Yet. I have to remember the _yet_ because I know it's going to come, one day or another.

"Hmm." She looks behind me, and I turn to see Kerri, Peter, and True watching us. "That's your team, huh?"

"Yeah." I sigh. "Listen, Cass—"

"Cass," Gary calls, "grab the damn thing so we can get out of here. We need to train."

I'm not sure why he isn't just challenging True to a battle, especially since he won last time. But considering it means I won't have to fight Cassidy—or worse, have someone else do it—I'm not really complaining. Cassidy takes the Pokédex gently into her teeth, nods, and then walks to Gary. He takes it and examines it for a bit, opening the device and punching a bit of information in. "Remind me to call Gramps and thank him," Gary says softly. Cassidy nods.

So he's not a total brat after all.

"Well, I've gotta get going. Got hard-heads to beat and all. Won't even waste my time with you."

"SAY THAT TO MY FACE," Kerri starts, but True shushes her. Gary almost looks surprised, but then he scowls before heading off. Cassidy turns to give me a wink before following after him.

"S-So th-that's G-Gary?" Peter asks. "He s-seems..."

"Like a real douchebag," Kerri says.

"Yeah," True says softly. I look at her, but she just shakes her head and smiles. "Anyway. Now that that errand's done, how about we do a little bit of training?"

" _Finally,_ " Kerri says. "So how're we doing this? Just going out and beating up people?"

"Well, no. Uh. Well, actually, I don't know," True admits.

I run up to True and grab her bag, causing it to fall to the ground. Despite True's protests I dig through her bag, pawing through Balls and Potions, until I realize—"You put it back!"

"Put what back?"

"The handbook I picked out for you!"

"Did you see how much it cost? We were almost at five-thousand dollars already without that book, and that was twenty-five-hundred!"

"Yeah, but it would've told us how to train!"

True and I go back and forth for a few minutes. She's the one who realizes that both Peter and Kerri have long since gone. So have any signs of local wildlife.

"Well shit," I say. True growls and shakes her head before starting to walk off—and like the good bodyguard I am, I follow her.

We eventually find them together, beating up a few Metapod and Kakuna. Kerri's directing Peter, who's actually doing pretty well under her guidance. I'm actually pretty impressed. Peter's using his speed to confuse his foes—granted, their motionless cocoons, but still, you've gotta practice on something—before striking; and Kerri's still doing serious damage with those claws of hers.

She looks up from her defenseless foe to see us and grins. "We've managed to gain three levels without you morons."

"Y-Yeah," Peter says, knocking a Kakuna so hard it flies into the bushes. "I-I mean you-ou're not m-morons, b-but we-we're doing g-good!"

True chuckles, leaning against a tree. "Does that mean I can take a nap?"

"WHAT," I exclaim, but Kerri shrugs. Obviously she doesn't need any protection, but still.

The whole trip through Viridian Forest is pretty painless, actually. Kerri practically annihilates every bug catcher we meet, with a bit of backup from Peter. Kerri tries to get me battling against a few Metapod, but I stick to firing against trees and bushes instead. It doesn't require a lot of thought—I just build up energy and release it.

That's what worries me; this is getting way too easy for comfort.

While Peter and I are taking a break, and True is fiddling with her Pokédex, Kerri swipes at an old tree; each pass deepens the scars she's leaving, and bark flies with every strike. Eventually she turns around and starts _kicking_ the tree, which confuses the hell out of me until, with a well-placed kick, I hear a huge  _CRACK_.

The tree doesn't fall, thank Mew, but now instead of a few scratches there's a huge dent in the tree. A _PING_ sounds off in True's bag, and an electronic voice sounds from the device. " _NIDORAN KERRI HAS LEARNED DOUBLE KICK_ ," it chirps, before going silent again.

The four of us are quiet for a few moments, before Kerri exclaims "BOOYAH." We all laugh until she starts kicking everything she sees—True actually has to put her in her Pokéball for an hour or so. I had almost forgotten what quiet had sounded like.

We make it to the rest house in at the northern edge of Viridian Forest and spend a few hours there, too, where we finally release Kerri and grab something to eat. True talks a bit with one of the patrons and discovers that Pewter is only an hour's walk away, and that's enough to convince her to make the trip before night falls.

It gives Kerri a chance to kick new things, at least, so I guess that's good.

While True takes Peter aside to battle a few local Pidgey, Kerri comes up to me. "So. You gonna tell me what's up with that Gary kid and True, or do I have to guess for myself?"

I rub my head, sighing. "To be honest, even I don't know what's up with the two of them. Ever since they met it was... sort of tense between them. True's never talked about it and I never asked." Because it was none of my business. Hint hint, Kerri.

But of course she doesn't get the hint. "Seems to go beyond a simple rivalry. He was just being rude. And I'd know, because I'm rude to everybody," she says, like it's nothing. I suppose it isn't to her, really, but the comment still takes me by surprise.

Which of course gives Kerri the perfect opportunity to strike with another blow. "And that Eevee. What's up with her, huh? You know her too?"

"We used to work together, yeah."

Kerri's silent for a bit, and then she snickers. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Wait—what? "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't be— _you know_ ," she sniggers. "Getting it on. Sneaking out of the nest. Making the egg—"

I thank Arceus for my naturally red cheeks and bury my face in my paws, trying to hide myself as much as possible from Kerri's prying eyes. Maybe if I do it well enough I'll disappear. "That is in _no way_ what we were doing! We were working with kids—"

"Practicing for babies of your own?" she laughs.

I have to really work to not blush; it's good my cheeks are naturally red, but the skin around them flushes easily, so it looks like my electric sacs are taking over my face. "We were therapy Pokémon. For kids. That's it."

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say, Electric Man. She _is_ pretty, though," she says.

I look away to see True and Peter come back. Peter's looking confident, his whiskers twitching and his eyes flashing. True looks pretty good, too, with a wide smile. "I think that's enough training for one day. What do you say, should we get a room at the Center and rest?"

"Surelet'sgo" I blurt out. True's looking at me like I've grown a second head; Peter looks around, as if there's something around here that's bugging me; and Kerri just snickers, shaking her head.

Thank Mew the rest of the walk is less eventful. We reach Pewter City almost half an hour after that fiasco with no other incidents, standing at the bottom of a hill. Almost all the buildings seem to be gray; they're spaced out from each other, so that it's easy to walk between them. These two things make it incredibly easy to find the Center and the Mart, with their red and blue roofs. The Mart can wait until tomorrow; for now, we need some rest.

Night falls by the time True has checked us in and given us to Joy. I eye the Chansey helper warily, but she rubs me over with some sort of quick-healing solution that closes up the cuts and softens the bruises that I've gotten in battle. Kerri and Peter are a bit more antsy, not having come into contact with this sort of technology before; even they succumb to the gentle touches of the nurses, though, and their soothing words. I don't think they even notice the quick pricks of needles. Props to the Nurses.

"You kids hoping to challenge the Gym?" Joy asks, cleaning off some of the dirt caked into my fur.

"Yeah," I say. "Any tips you can give us?"

"Well, Brock specializes in rock-types, so unless you have any water-, grass-, or fighting-type moves—"

"Double Kick," Kerri says confidently.

"Well, then you should be alright," a Chansey nurse chimes in. "Just be careful about that Onix; he's broken quite a few spines already."

Spine crunching. "Fun," I wince. Peter starts shaking again, and I'm not feeling much better. But true to character, Kerri only says "Sweeeet," earning her a laugh from Joy and the Chansey.

Finally, once we're all cleaned up and restored to full health, we're reunited with True. "Rooms are up past those stairs. We serve free breakfast until ten, so be sure to get up early!"

"We will. And thank you," True says, bowing low.

Room 207 is easy to find, just a few doors up the stairs. We open the door to find a modestly sized room, decorated in various shades of gray and burgundy. There are even a few beds suitable for Pokémon. Kerri and Peter sink into the two closest to the A/C—which makes me jealous, since it's hotter than hell in here—as True starts slipping out of her clothes and into pajamas.

While True settles into bed, I find the remote and turn the small TV on. It's already set to news. I watch a few segments, relieved to hear nothing out of the ordinary: a few clips from the Trainer Ceremony in Pallet—no clips of me and True, thank Arceus, but several of Gary and Cassidy—a couple of reruns from the last League tournament.

"And finally, sources claim that there has been sightings of Team Rock—"

I cut off the power immediately, turning to True. Even if her eyes are closed and she's slumped in the bed, I have a feeling that she's awake. "They're probably a long ways away from here," I say softly. I look to Kerri and Peter, but they're already sleeping. It's probably for the best.

True sighs, and I know then that she's heard me. "Let's just sleep," she murmurs, and twists deeper into the blankets.

There will be a time for this conversation, but that obviously isn't tonight. With a sigh of my own I jump onto True's bed and settle down near her pillow. The mattress dips slightly under my weight, which surprises me at first. But eventually I get used to it, and with a sign I fall into an uneasy sleep.


	9. Chapter Eight

_"Now you've just got to concentrate on the target, bro. Feel that energy in your body and just—go!"_

_A bolt of white energy releases from the larger Pikachu, aiming straight for the young sapling. The tiny tree has no chance; when the Thunderbolt crackles away into nothingness, there's only a shriveled-up twig to hint at what once was._

_It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen—but it is so cool!_

_"I don't think I can do that, Al," I say nervously, looking down at the ground._

_Al rolls his green eyes, the pale freckles on his arms popping out as he crosses his arms. "You won't with that kind of attitude, kid. You just gotta keep trying!"_

_"But you're so good!" I complain. "I can't even do a Thundershock yet."_

_"I saw you sparking the other day, man. You're gonna get it. Here," he says, walking behind me. I feel his paws press against my cheeks, rubbing them. "Do ya feel the energy there, man?"_

_I can feel something, that's for sure. Is that supposed to be my thunder? "Yeah, but—"_

_"Hey, calm down little dude. Relax." He steadies my shoulders, and even when he's behind me I can feel him smiling. "You just have to let it out. Just breathe, and release."_

_I think I can do it. Breathe and release. Breathe. Release. I do it over and over and over again until I can feel something tickle my cheeks. I put my hand to it—only to feel like something's bit me. I yelp, pulling my injured hand close to my side, but Al just laughs._

_"Case, you did it! That was a spark!"_

_A... spark? "R-Really?!" I ask excitedly, turning around._

_"Haha, yeah! Now the next step is to wake up."_

_I don't understand. "Wake up?"_

"Wh-wake up, Casey!"

But how does waking up teach me—?

A sudden pain shoots straight up my arm; I open my eyes immediately, jumping in a random direction and fall flat on my face. Fuzzy. Smells like feet. Carpet. No grass. No lessons. No Al.

It was a dream.

"C-Casey, I w-woke up and th-they're gone!" It's Peter on the bed—no, I hear a _thump_ ; on the floor, then—and he's chattering nervously. "True and K-K-Kerri are g-gone!"

I groan, pushing myself up off the floor to look around the room. Sure enough there's no sign of True or Kerri anywhere; all the clothes are picked up, shoes and bag are gone. "For the love of Arceus," I hiss, rubbing my cheek. Sparks of electricity nip at my fingers, and I'm brought back again to that damn dream.

No. I can't think about that. I have to find True, and calm Peter down. "Look, I'm sure everything's fine. What time is it?"

"I-I-I don't know, th-the sun's not out."

Oh for crying—! I push myself back onto the bed and look for the clock. 9:27 blinks in bright red. I can't remember if that's past breakfast or not, because I just got woken up. If True and Kerri were able to sneak away while I was still sleeping, that means that I was totally out of it. "They're probably downstairs eating breakfast. Let's get out of here," I say to Peter. If True has brought everything with her, that probably means she has the room key.

I lead Peter down the stairs and into the main lobby, which has become fairly active in the past few hours. Trainers clutching injured Pokémon to their chests are standing in a line, demanding for a Nurse or a Chansey to heal them. I scoff and shake my head; Peter just looks on, curious. "Th-They're gonna be al-alright, r-right?"

"Yeah, kid, they'll be fine," I say. "Just need some rest, like we did yesterday." I can't help but look away from a Bulbasaur whose bulb has been cut and flattened slightly; I just hope Peter doesn't see.

I catch the eye of a Chansey who's carrying a Pidgey in her pouch. It's actually really fucking adorable, even though I'd never say that out loud. "If you're looking for your trainer and your Nidoran friend, they went out to train a few hours ago on Route Two. You wanna stay for some breakfast?"

"Uh," I say, turning to Peter. "What do you think? Might be hard to find them out there." It makes no sense to go out and get lost. Besides, I'm hungry.

"Th-that sounds go-good," the little Rattata agrees. It's probably for the best; kid needs to eat as much as he can, start to gain some weight back.

"Great! Dining hall is down that way," she says, pointing to a bright yellow hall. "Follow the signs and get whatever you want, as much as you want—"

"MISS, MY SPEAROW—"

"I'LL BE THERE, HOLD YOUR PONYTAS" the Chansey screams. The exclamation startles everyone within earshot; when the Chandry realizes this, she chuckles nervously. "Ahem. Just enjoy yourselves, darlings!" she says, and wobbles over to the counter.

"Well! That was exciting," I say. "Let's get some grub, I'm starving."

Whether it's because most of the trainers are out training with their Pokémon or they're just lazy, the dining room is fairly empty. Peter grabs at all the nuts and cheeses he can get his paws on; I don't even try to discourage him, since he needs it so badly. I head toward the fruit and grab a few apples, hanging onto them by the stems with my teeth. I pick a booth that faces the entrance, making me easy to spot; Peter comes by a few minutes later with a shy grin on his face and big fat cheeks.

"No need to store your catch, kid," I say, biting into one of the apples.

"In-Inshtinct," Peter forces out, before depositing his cache onto the table. I have to fight to keep from vomiting. It's not even like it's been chewed up or anything, but... Well, it's just strange.

"For Mew's sake, use a napkin next time." Peter looks away shyly but grabs a white napkin and places it on the table, moving his slimy nuts and half-soft cheeses onto the paper square.

I figure I can eat without looking at the kid. It helps. We eat in an easy silence, me staring at my apples and Peter chowing down. It's nice to eat in silence for once; it reminds me of when I'd go out to the fields and eat my lunch there. Nothing but wind tickling your face, grass brushing against your thighs, a nice companion—

"Gimme that," a voice interrupts. I have no time to react before a huge clawed paw grabs the half-eaten apple right out of my grasp and is shoved down the gullet of one of the largest Nidorina I have ever seen.

"What the hell is your problem?" I ask, sparking.

"Ah-ah-ah," the Nidorina taunts, sitting down on her haunches. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Electric Man."

"Elec—?"

Peter scurries over to the edge of the table, leaning off to look at the Nidorina close-up. "C-Casey, I th-think we know t-this N-Nidorina!"

I scowl, rolling my eyes. "Who the hell would be rude—" Wait. And then I know. "Oh. Figures."

True shows up not a moment after, her green eyes bright. "Oh good, you're eating! Sorry we left without waking you, you seemed so sleepy and Kerri _really_ wanted to get some training in."

"You two losers still look like you need the rest," Kerri taunts, scratching one of her gigantic ears with a sharp claw. I take the time to study her over: larger spines and stronger limbs; her slip of a tail has grown to be something formidable; and those claws look like something I do not want to have against my face. "But rest time's over. We're heading to the gym now. Gonna go... _rock some heads_."

"How long have you been waiting to say that?" I ask. At this point I know I'm not going to get anything else to eat until after the battle.

"Since Joy told us it was a rock-type gym."

True and Peter laugh, but I just roll my eyes; True reaches out to pet me and scratches my ears, and even though it feels nice I still roll my eyes. "Chill out. I am sorry we didn't wake you up though."

"Well, we're here now. Let's go beat up some rocks!" Kerri screeches. I look to Peter, who has managed to finish his breakfast and the napkin too, and shrug. Guess that's the last bit of quiet we'll have. As though he's able to read my mind, the Rattata grins.

It's not hard to find the gym—for one thing, there's a steady stream of trainers clutching Rattata and Charmander to their chests, rushing to the Pokémon Center. I'm not sure whether that's a good or bad thing, but I still shudder. Peter scurries up to perch on True's shoulder and buries himself in her hair, until only his purple tail is sticking out. I have to admit, it's actually pretty hilarious. For another, the gym is one of the biggest buildings in Pewter: tall and stocky and absolutely devoid of color, like the rest of this grayscale town. I look up to see thick letters declare PEWTER GYM, and sigh.

True pushes the doors open, and we are met by darkness. I have to squint to make out any shapes—but then without any warning floodlights flick on, illuminating the battlefield. It looks like a relatively smooth field, sand and pebbles, with a few boulders tossed around haphazardly. To our left is a kid commanding his Bulbasaur to crush rocks with its vines, and to our right is another kid telling her Squirtle to blow away the rocks with a Water Gun.

I'm just about to ask what the hell is going on, but then I see the figure approaching from the back and I bristle.

He's a tall, intimidating-looking guy, with dark spiky hair and dark skin. I try and look for his eyes, but for some reason I have trouble placing them. He's dressed in varying shades of brown with a green vest, and—considering where we are—looks fairly well-kept.

He looks over me, and then True, before catching Kerri's eye—she swells up under his gaze, matching it with a glare of her own. He laughs. "My name is Brock, and I'm the leader of this gym."

"Uh, I'm True. And this is Casey," she says, gesturing to me; "Kerri," she says, as Kerri lifts her head up confidently; "and Peter's, uh, well he's in my hair," she says, turning around so that Peter's curled tail is clearly visible. That gets a chuckle out of Brock, at least. "And I'd like to challenge you for a gym battle."

Brock nods. "It's nice to meet all of you. But before I can accept your gym challenge, you have to prove you're ready for a gym battle." He gestures to the rocky sidelines, where I see several trainers and Pokémon lashing out at rocks. "Rules are simple: I pick out a rock for your Pokémon to fight against. Your job is to break the rock using a combination of strategy and brute force. Do that, and I'll accept your challenge."

"This is a load of Tau—" Kerri starts to say, but I kick her before she can finish her sentence. I don't care if she glares at me; this is a gym battle, and we're trying to make an impression.

"I accept your test," True says confidently. She turns toward Kerri, and without a word they nod before both turning to Brock. "Where do you want to see us?"

He points to the left. I follow his finger to see a gigantic rock, probably as tall as True, towering over the others. "You may have a Nidorina, but I still have to see if you're ready to battle me. Gym battles are different than run-of-the-mill trainer battles, after all; you might have gotten this far on dumb luck."

"SAY THAT TO MY FACE," Kerri snarls.

This time it's True who shushes her, to my surprise. "I-I'm sorry, sir, she's a little... excited. But I promise you won't be disappointed."

We've managed to catch the attention of both the trainers, who turn away from their rocks to watch Kerri and True step up to their chosen target. Peter jumps from True's hair and joins me on a distant rock, just close enough so that we can see the action but far enough away to be caught in any potential blasts.

True says something to Kerri that I can't hear, but she seems to understand. Without a word she starts going to the rock, and—starts swiping at the rock.

The sound of her claws scraping against the rock is painful, to say the least. I wince at the sound; Peter has actually pressed his ears against his head to block out the sound. But for some reason or another she keeps going and going and going. It's way too dark and I'm too far away to see if she's making any headway; for some reason I doubt it.

"Keep going, Kerri," True shouts, her hands over her own ears.

They continue like this for a good four minutes—I know, because Brock seems to be looking at a watch, completely unfazed by the noise—until True suddenly tells Kerri to stop. "Now get onto the other rock."

With more power and grace than I would have expected from a newly evolved Pokémon, Kerri jumps high and lands with a _thud_ onto a neighboring rock. She's tensing up, her tail held above her, waiting for _something_ —

"NOW!" True shouts. "Double Kick!"

Kerri jumps from the boulder, racing toward her chosen target. She runs and runs and runs until I'm sure she's about to slam into the thing—but at the absolute last second she swivels, digging her front paws into the ground so that her back legs connect and kick out, right where she had been scratching.

I hear the crack before I see it break apart in two, both halves falling to the ground and colliding with other rocks. There's applause, and Kerri looks around stunned at first. The humility doesn't last long, of course, because she smirks and turns to Brock. "How's that for dumb luck?" she calls out, kicking the air like she's a Rapidash.

"Not bad at all," Brock calls out, striding to the main battle stage. "That definitely took strategy and power. I think you're ready." He gestures True and Kerri to follow him; I make a move to go after them, but Brock shakes his head. "This will be a one-on-one match. You step onto the battlefield and you immediately disqualify your trainer."

Well, it's not like I can exactly tell him off in his own gym—Kerri's already blown a strike one, and the last thing True needs is strikes two and three against her. So I get as close as I can without toeing the line and watch as True settles herself at the edge of the field. Kerri steps confidently onto the stage, digging a bit into the soft sand and nodding. "Just like back home," I hear her say, and immediately I grin.

"Trainer True," Brock calls out. He flings a Pokéball onto the stage, releasing a giant Onix that stretches high into the ceiling. That immediately explains why the gym is so big—his Onix is a damn monster.

"Hold me," I hear the Squirtle whimper, and I laugh.

Kerri doesn't look at all fazed; if anything she seems to look even more excited, bouncing on her feet. True turns toward me and gives me a thumb's up, and I weakly offer one back to her. Peter cheers "Y-You can do-do it, Ke-Kerri!" which catches the attention of the Nidorina herself. She winks before turning to Brock, who has reclaimed his Pokéball.

"I accept your challenge."


	10. Chapter Nine

"As challenger, you're allowed the first move," Brock says.

True nods, turning to Kerri with a grin. "Fine with me! Kerri, rush that Onix!"

"With pleasure," Kerri says. She sprints toward the Onix, who just sits there menacingly, glaring with beady eyes.

"Wait for her to come to you, Slate," Brock calls out. I feel Peter's claws grab into my arm, and I wince, trying not to call out. His claws are fucking sharp; they might actually leave marks.

The battlefield is big enough that it takes a bit for Kerri to clear the distance between her starting point and the Onix. When she's maybe a few feet away she jumps into the air, back legs extended. "Yeah, Double—"

"Slam it, Slate!"

And with a lightning-fast flick, the Onix lifts its tail and slams it into Kerri. I watch in horror as she's thrown to the side—and crashes into nothing before falling on top of a boulder with a _CRASH_.

"What the hell was that?!" I scream.

I can see Brock cross his arms and look at me, and it makes me spark. "Psychic barrier. Keeps debris from falling out of the battlefield and injuring any spectators."

"Doesn't seem to work for Battlers," I scowl, shaking my head.

True doesn't seem to be listening to a word he says; she's looking at Kerri, extending a hand toward her. "Kerri, are you okay?!"

It takes a moment, which worries me, but Kerri pushes herself up into a standing position, shaking herself off. "'M fine," she calls out, and jumps from the rock to stare again at Slate. "That really hurt, you asshole!"

Slate simply laughs, a low rumbling that echoes in the room. "I try," says the rock snake, in a slow, deep gravelly voice that immediately reminds me of stone rubbing against stone. "Now you show me what you can do."

True balls her hand into a fist and nods. "Fine. Rush him again, Kerri!"

Just like before, Kerri runs toward Slate; and just like before, Slate lifts his massive tail, poised to smash Kerri to the ground. "D-Do you think sh-she's gonna be oh-okay?" Peter squeaks beside me.

"When have you known Kerri to do anything half-assed? She'll be fine." I say this to Peter, but deep inside there's a knot in my belly and a madly rushing heart in my chest. I don't know if I believe what I'm saying.

When she's almost to him, Slate brings his tail crashing down, sending up a dust cloud that completely obliterates everyone's view of the field. I instinctively raise my arm to shield my eyes from the dust, even as the psychic barrier catches the flying debris.

I don't know what I expect to see. But I know that that Onix is heavy, and is probably experienced, and Kerri hasn't even been battling for a _week_ , and if she gets killed I'm going to feel so—

But no. When that dust settles all of my doubts fly away—because there's Kerri, clinging to Slate's head for dear life.

"That's the way, Kerri!" True shouts, punching the air triumphantly.

"Battle's not over yet!" Brock calls out, and I have to agree with him. "Slate, throw that Nidorina off of you!"

Slate immediately begins shaking his head this way and that, but Kerri has latched on to the rocky horn on his head with those damn-sharp claws of hers. "Keep hanging on, Kerri!" I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth to amplify the sound.

"I'm—going—to—be—sick!" she screams, somehow still managing to hang on.

"Kerri, do you trust me?" True suddenly shouts, stepping out into what I can only call a battle stance.

"MAAAYBEEEE" she screams. In the chaos her back legs slip away; she's only grabbing onto Slate by her front claws now. One wrong move and—

"Then LET GO!"

And let go she does. Every head turns up as she gets flung into the air, arching high above Slate and the battlefield. I watch in slow-motion, slack-jawed, as she hits the ceiling—my paws are fists and Peter's claws are tearing into my arm as she starts falling, just above Slate who's also watching.

"DOUBLE KICK!" True shouts, a huge smile on her face.

She falls out of the sky like a comet, back legs outstretched. She slams into Slate's head with a collision that produces a small explosion, and once again no one can see anything. There's way more dust and debris than last time, completely shielding everything from view. There's no way to tell what's going on on that field, and it scares the shit out of me.

One heartbeat. Two. Five. Twenty.

And then the dust settles, followed by a mind-numbing roar that forces every human and Pokémon to cover their ears. Even then, we hear the crash of something heavy falling to the ground; the vibrations tickle at my feet, threatening to send me flying from the rock. Peter presses against me fearfully, and this time I actually clutch to him, too. I turn around to see the other two teams clutching to each other, trainer on trainer and Starter on Starter.

"Slate, no!" Brock screams, bringing every single eye to the giant Onix.

A massive chunk has been cleaved straight off of Slate's jaw, giving him an awkward unbalanced look to his face. I'm horrified, sick to my stomach; are there cures for that? Does it happen often? There are Mankey accessible to trainers, and both genders of Nidoran learn Double Kick, so I know that Slate must have faced fighting type moves before. But this just... seems so excessive.

I can't see Kerri anywhere, but Peter points a slender paw to a rock a ways away. "Th-There!"

And suddenly we see her; the way up is slow, but there's Kerri, on one of the rocks. Even from here I can see she's got more than her fair share of scratches. Both Pokémon are panting hard, but neither side seems to be giving up anytime soon.

"You alright, Slate?" Brock calls out.

"Fiiiiine," Slate moans, but he shakes his head—a few pebbles tumble off from the wound, but his head seems to be staying on fairly well. I clutch my own jaw in sympathy.

"Kerri, are you okay?!" True shouts.

Kerri takes a little longer to answer, but she turns toward us and lifts her head. "I was born for this!" Kerri says, pawing at the stone impatiently.

"Then one more time," True says, pointing a finger to the crouching rock snake, "use Double Kick!"

"Don't let her get close to you, Slate! Use Tackle to get away!"

Slate tries to get away, he does; but he's injured and slow, and there's just so _much_ of him, that Kerri practically has her pick of where to land a blow. She's like an Arcanine, she's so fast; I can't tear my eyes away from the streaking blue girl, who strikes out against one of the stone segments on Slate's body that _he's_ the one flown backward. He strikes against the psychic barrier so hard that I can't help but wonder if it will shatter—it doesn't, but somehow I wonder if that makes it even worse.

Slate falls down. Kerri is panting laborously, but remains standing.

One heartbeat. Two. Five. Twenty.

And then without a word, Brock takes a step forward. I hear something, even if I can't see anything: a low grumbling that reminds me of an earthquake. But he extends his hand, Pokéball tight in his grasp, and sends a red beam of energy to recall Slate. There's silence for a long moment, until he strides onto the battlefield.

"I-I-I th-th-th—" Peter stutters, and now I'm the one gripping onto him.

Brock takes something out of his pocket and leans low to Kerri, who finally collapses onto the ground. The gym leader whispers something into her ear, which makes her laugh, before pointing the thing toward her body—a Potion, I finally realize. Kerri stands up and shakes herself off before starting to make her way toward us. She's shaky on her feet but she's smiling like nothing can ruin her day.

"We won," I whisper.

Brock and Kerri both stand in front of True, who can't even manage to get a single word out; her face is stretched in the biggest grin I've ever seen her make, not even counting today when Kerri reintroduced herself to us. "That was a fantastic battle," Brock says, opening his vest.

"Why the hell are we standing here?" I ask, and before I can give Peter a chance to respond I rush toward the three of them to get a better look. Brock has a small gray thing between his fingers that shines in the half-light; a small rock. A badge.

"It is my honor to bestow you, Trainer True, with the Boulder Badge."

A _badge_. I turn to True with a huge smile on my face; I doubt she can see anything, though, through all the tears that are streaming down her face. Kerri's beaming too, her tail wagging furiously behind her—I almost feel sorry for Brock; one wrong step and he could get a serious leg injury—and Peter is bouncing up and down.

"DID YOU SEE THAT," I hear one of the trainers exclaim, and against my better judgment I laugh, turning to them.

"Wait," says the Bulbasaur, "aren't you that Pikachu from the lab?"

Jig is up. But miraculously, I don't feel anything other than pride. "Yeah, I am."

"Do ya get it now, huh?" the Squirtle asks, his eyes wide in excitement. "It's super cool, isn't it? Aren't ya excited?"

"I hear the gym after this one is all water-types!"

"So you should be super awesome at that!"

I'm taken aback; there's a difference between having kids stare captivated at you and young Pokémon imagining themselves in your shoes. I didn't even _battle_ , for the love of Mew. I almost tell them to save their breath, to go talk to Kerri—who actually _did_ all the heavy lifting—and to not let the excitement get to their heads.

But there's a burning in my belly that I can't quite stamp out, either. And so I smile and say, "Keep practicing, and you can be like her," as I point to Kerri.

That sends the two of them to the tired Nidorina, who immediately starts going into a play-by-play of the battle. I see the two trainers talking amongst themselves, probably talking strategy for their own gym battles, and chuckle.

"That was n-nice, wh-what you said." I turn to see Peter looking at me with wide eyes and a smile.

"It's true though. Might not be battling Slate though, but I guess it doesn't matter."

"I-It does m-matter, though," he says, and hurries toward True, who's still crying and staring at her badge.

I give another look around the room, and watch as Brock approaches the two trainers and begins to talk with them. Eventually the Bulbasaur and Squirtle leave Kerri alone to go with their own trainers; and when they do, Kerri falls down to the ground. True sprays a Potion onto her legs, where most of the damage is, and sits down beside her. Peter is already there, resting on top of Kerri's head; I approach with my arms folded and a laugh. "You damn near gave me a heart attack, girl."

"I live to please," Kerri pants, smirking. "Pretty... awesome, huh?"

"The awesomest," True says, scratching underneath the Nidorina's chin.

"Oooh, that hits the spot."

We stay there for a few more moments before Brock finally comes over to tell us we have to leave; the battlefield needs sweeping in order to prepare for the next challenger. When Kerri is able to walk without too much difficulty, we push through the doors into a late afternoon day. I breathe it in, surprised to realize how stuffy it was inside the gym, and sigh.

"So how about a few movies in the Center room, and then we continue on?" True asks.

"Did they have pay-per-view?" I ask, curious. The only thing I had looked for was the news; maybe True had flipped through without my knowing.

"Guess we'll find out!" True says, and I laugh.

Kerri and Peter look to each other for a moment before turning to True, confused looks on their faces. "Movie?"

This of course prompts True and I to look at each other, grin, and shrug. "We'll just have to find out, won't we?"


	11. Chapter Ten

It took more than a few Potions to get Kerri completely back to strength; Nurse Joy had given True strict instructions to not train Kerri for three days. Kerri had been disappointed as hell, coming off a strong battle high. True tried to comfort her with an encouraging "It'll give us a chance to see the sights!" but it had done little to lift Kerri's spirits. She spent that night with Nurse Joy, sulking.

We had three days to kill time. Large as Pewter was, he only real attraction that Pewter could claim was its museum, which showcased rare Pokémon fossils and ancient artifacts. One of the curators had spun a yarn about an ax-looking tool, saying that it "had probably belonged to the first Kantonians" and had "been a rare and fantastic find" right in Mount Moon. I had to admit, some of it was fairly interesting, and I don't think all of that had been a byproduct of me spending so much time with Oak.

"Boring," Kerri had said multiple times, until True had been forced to recall her into the Pokéball.

"Finally, some silence," I'd muttered to Peter, who timidly laughed.

He was really starting to come into his own, now that there was a stable food supply and no threat of Pokémon trying to eat him. (Apparently battling was alright, though, which didn't make a lick of sense to me.) Was it a slow and somewhat painful process? Sure. But at least he wasn't flinching in _absolute_ terror at everything with a face, now. His favorite place by far was on True's shoulder; her head came in at a close second. The little guy probably would have been content to stay on top of her forever if he could. Most of the time I gave him that luxury, preferring mostly to walk on my own. Sometimes, though... well, someone's got to play the "I've been here longer" card, and Kerri was by far the largest of us Pokémon.

The museum took about half a day to peruse through, and we left with a bit of knowledge and a few cheap souvenirs. True was proudly wearing her "PEWTER MUSEUM ROCKED MY SOCKS" t-shirt as she restocked on Potions and Antidotes; I, of course, spent as much time as I could staying _away_ from that shirt as possible. Peter was sniffing around as much as he could from the safety of True's head, which attracted a few weird stares but also a few "aww, look at that Rattata!"s and "what a cutie!"s.

The second day we hung around the gym. Brock had come up to us to see how Kerri was doing, and then challenged a few newbies. Slate was taking some much-needed rest, but he had another Onix who battled against the challengers. The two kids with the Bulbasaur and the Squirtle were just able to win their matches, each of them earning their own Boulder Badge—and we clapped, because we were supposed to. True had a bit of extra money to burn, so she took the both of them out to dinner in a small cafe. The trainers talked with each other, and the Squirtle and Bulbasaur talked with Kerri and Casey. I just looked around, face-deep in rice drizzled with orange sauce, and blocked them all out.

The gym match had been exhilarating. Kerri was a fantastic battler, and True was starting to come into her own as a full-fledged trainer. Peter was even turning into a competent fighter, with his dizzying speed and sharp teeth. I had even learned a few new techniques: Thunder Wave, on my own; and Quick Attack, with a little help from Peter. We were getting stronger, and I was seeing sights and people and Pokémon I probably would have never seen before.

But I was still nervous. Because the words of those two Starters were still echoing in my head. Whatever peace of mind I had managed to get from helping True and Kerri prepare for this battle was long gone, now that _i_ was the one who was going to be expected to perform.

I don't sleep well that night. True took Peter and Kerri out to investigate Route Three—swearing that only Peter would be training, and we needed the team mate—which gives me plenty of time to catch up on what's happening in the world. There are no reports of Team Rocket in Mount Moon; I don't know if that's disappointing or relieving. Team Rocket is obviously the last thing that we need on our journey, and it's the last thing that True needs _period_. But I'm still uneasy.

I spend that day napping, waking up only when True slips into the room and lays down on the bed. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and turn to her. The blinds are up, flooding the room with afternoon light, and either the TV turned itself off or I did in my sleep. "Where're everyone?" I mumble.

"Getting healed by Nurse Joy," she says. "We caught a new team mate."

That doesn't compute with me right away. It's only when she pulls out her Pokédex and starts punching a few things do I start to realize what that means. She gives me the red device and I look at the screen.

"We needed a flyer," I say. I don't know a lot about Spearow, not the way I know Pidgey, but I know that Spearow are fierce.

"She's pretty cool. Her name's Clara," she says. "She uh, doesn't talk. Not even when Kerri and Peter were asking her questions. But we trained a bit and she learned a few new moves."

"Well. Good," I say, plopping back against the pillow.

"Casey, is something going on? Why didn't you want to come with us?"

I don't have the excuse of a dark room to hide from her prying eyes, or pretend she isn't there. The heavy weight on my side is a reminder that she's there, waiting for an answer.

"Can we find a grass-type before hitting the gym in Cerulean?" I say, turning away from True to look at the window. Underneath a steadily reddening sky, Pewter City actually looks colorful. Kind of weird, in a way.

"Are you nervous?" True asks, putting a hand on my side.

"That battle with Kerri and that Onix was great, but... you know I'm not a fighter. Cassidy knew when to stop, and Kerri could've been _killed_ —"

"Casey, stop—"

"And the gyms only get harder as you go on, I know you know that—"

"Casey—"

"And I just—"

" _Casey_ " True says. She picks me up and cradles me in her arms, like I'm a Pichu hatched right out of the egg. I shudder, but it has the intended affect: my body slackens, and I am forced to look up at her. "I won't say you won't... we can get a grass-type. But at some point you... you have to start battling. For real."

"Because regular matches against wild Pokémon aren't enough?" I scoff.

True sighs. "Can you trust me to keep you safe? If things get too tough I'll switch you out. But you... you need to do this, too."

I _don't_. That's the thing. I had promised Kerri I would stick it out to Vermilion; by then, I had thought, True would have gotten a strong enough team that she wouldn't need me anymore. I'd go back to Pallet Town, and lead my life, and watch the TV obsessively for any sign of True.

...Hell.

"You know I've gotta care about you a lot to be doing this, right?"

True sighs, pulling me into a tight hug. "I know. Thanks, Casey."

We both go down together to get the team. Kerri is officially given the all-clear to continue training, which delights the Nidorina to no end. Peter looks refreshed as well, and waves a paw at me.

As for the Spearow... she certainly looks impressive. Her feathers are glossy and her gray eyes are sharp and clear; her talons and beak seem sharp. So I go up to her and extend a paw. "You've met the others, but I'm Casey."

Clara looks me over a few times before extending a wing, wordlessly shaking it before flapping onto True's other shoulder. I look at Kerri, who's looking at me and chuckling. "She doesn't talk a whole lot."

"So I've noticed," I say.

We all end up watching a movie— _Sleepless in Celadon_ ; it's the only thing on—before falling asleep. There's no alarm to wake us up, only the sunrise peeking through the window, but we dress and do a final once-over of our room before heading downstairs, checking out, and heading back out onto Route Three.

Since it's early in the morning, hardly any trainers or Pokémon are out and about. The road is long, though, and steep; even by the sun reaches its high point in the sky I don't think we're all that far up the trail. Clara is obviously at home, flying above us silently; Kerri also does well, probably because Route Twenty Two was full of foothills.

True, Peter, and I on the other hand... we're not doing so well. By the time we sit down for lunch—"I stocked up when you were inside," she explains to me—my legs are aching, Peter is panting, and True's face is so red I'm worried she's about to pass out. So we stay where we are for a few hours, probably longer than we should; and finally, when Kerri and Clara get too restless to keep continuing on, we push onward.

"I HATE MOUNTAINS," True exclaims.

"SHUT UP," I shout back.

Peter, the little sneak, has managed to convince Kerri to carry him upward. I scowl at him—he has the nerve to grin at me, like there's absolutely nothing wrong. Kerri catches us and starts immediately laughing, like it's the funniest damn thing she's ever seen. Maybe it is. Like hell do I care.

We don't encounter any trainers or Pokémon all the way up. Even if it's mostly mountain with few grassy patches, that still concerns me. "Shouldn't we have crossed someone's path by now?" I ask.

"I was just th-thinking the sa-same thing," Peter says nervously.

True stops to look around, putting her hands on her hips as she catches her breath. "Yeah... we should've." She looks up to Clara, who's circling over us like a Vullaby. "Is this normal, Clara?"

The little Spearow comes down to perch on top of Kerri, shaking her head.

"Is that all you have to say?" Kerri asks.

Clara just shrugs.

True bites her lip, looking behind us. "I don't know whether to keep going or not."

"There's got to be some sort of place we can get directions," I say. "Maybe someone can explain what's going on."

We don't see anyone before the Pokémon Center. Immediately my eye is drawn to the rocks thrown around haphazardly, and the giant pits, and the scorch marks. I can almost feel my stomach drop to the ground, and look at True. All the color has drained from her face, and she's shaking. Even though I feel like I can't move another step, I walk toward her, pushing against her leg. "Probably just an intense battle. Let's get to the Center, they'll probably have more information."

But there's hardly anyone there: a Nurse Joy, her hair frazzled and out of the customary bun; a Chansey, who looks rather shaken; and an old man reading a newspaper, shaking his head. At his feet sits a Meowth, curled up in a ball and staring at us as we enter.

It's Kerri who goes up to the counter and slams the bell. The Chansey comes up to her, twirling her paws together in a calming motion that I know well: it's the sign of someone who's under tremendous stress, or who can't get the words out of their head to speak aloud.

"What happened here?" I ask gently.

"I-It was a-awful," the Chansey says, now brushing her downy ears. "Th-The police of-officers said th-that they had gone, but... th-they came back."

"Who the hell could do that much damage that fast?" Kerri asks.

But I know. And True knows. I can feel her shaking beside me, grabbing onto herself. Peter notices, and without a word jumps off of Kerri to scamper up to True.

But True just plucks Peter's Pokéball from her belt and recalls him. And before any of us can protest, Kerri and Clara are sucked right back into their balls, too.

She doesn't grab for mine, because it's buried deep in her bag; I wouldn't go into the ball anyway, so there's no use for her to have it accessible. "Can we get a room?" I ask the Chansey, who has started to stare at the shaking True.

"Y-Yes, o-one second," she says, before scurrying away.

"Coulda told 'em they'd come back," the old man says from the table. "News trucks came out, bringin' some trainers with 'em. Found nothin', went through to Cerulean to challenge the next gym. Not even half a day later did they come back, scarin' off all the wild Pokémon. Pathetic."

"Ralph, not now," the Meowth whispers.

But Ralph is obviously not done. He slams the paper onto the ground, stroking his bushy mustache. "World'd be a lot better without those damn Rockets runnin' around."

"Here's the room key!" the Chansey says. "Just go straight down that hall, fifth door on the l—oh!"

I grab the key before she can finish her sentence and climb up onto True's shoulder. "Give me two minutes to get into the room, okay? Can you do that?"

True grabs me, just like we've practiced, and cradles me close to her chest. I have to repeat the instructions five times and put the card key in the slot, opening the door to a smaller room. The door shuts by itself; the second we hear that CLICK, True starts hyperventilating.

"Breathe, now. Breathe," I say. "In and out—slow, slower. There now..."

True crashes down to the end of the bed, putting her head between her legs. She's shaking and sobbing and I'm just stroking her arm, her face, over and over again.

"I-I-I c-can't—"

"Don't talk, just breathe," I say. "In and out. Can you count to ten in your head? Down from ten to one."

She does. I repeat the instructions. We do this over and over again, for minutes that bleed into hours, until she can finally breathe somewhat normally. "If they're here, I don't—"

"Shhhh," I say. "They're not going to hurt you. Okay? We're going to be just fine."

We're only going to be fine if I can keep True calm enough to function again. Her breathing's evened out now, and her hands aren't shaking as much. "You feeling better?" I ask softly.

She doesn't say anything, but wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and nods.

"Look, there are probably other ways to Cerulean. Dangerous, but it would mean skipping Team Rocket—"

"No."

The word stuns me. She starts to sit up, forcing me to take a few steps back. "I shouldn't... have to live my life because of them."

"They're a  _terrorist organization_ ," I say softly.

"That's not the reason," she says, and turns away.

I know better than to ask questions when she's like this: it's her giving up, and me taking and deflecting. That's how it's worked with us. Stupid, naive me had thought she had conquered the worst of this, but tonight had shown me just how wrong I was.

"I don't... I don't know what to do," she says. New tear drip down her face; this time her hand stays on the disturbed blankets. "I don't want to live in... in  _fear_ of them. Anymore. And I thought... I thought if I had a team..." She laughs bitterly. "Guess I was wrong."

"Look at me," I say, and rub her arm with a paw. "Whatever you choose to do, we'll be by your side. Okay?"

"Yeah, right," she says bitterly. "Like they'll—"

"Do you trust them to get you through Mount Moon?"

She closes her eyes. Says nothing.

"Do you trust  _me?_ " I ask. Remembering her earlier words, I add: "To keep you safe?"

She turns to me, opens her eyes. And then, very slowly, she nods.

"We'll get Repels to keep the wildlife away. And we won't stop. Mount Moon's the quickest way to Cerulean City. And we have Kerri," I add, a little surprised that I'm not entirely joking.

And then, fleeting—the smile. "Okay." A long sigh. "Okay."

I curl up in her lap and don't move for the rest of the night.


	12. Chapter Eleven

True wakes up for moments in the early morning hours. I'd managed to slip moment of sleep—half an hour here, an hour there—when she had been lost in her dreams. The clock on the wall reads five in the morning when she shifts underneath me, blinking up with groggy eyes.

"How long...?" she murmurs.

"A few hours," I say quietly. "You gonna be okay?"

I should know better than to ask these things when she's only half-awake, but she nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'm sorry."

"No need," I say gently, and pull myself out of her embrace. "I'm going to... I'm gonna go get checked. For Mount Moon." I pause. "If that's what we're still doing?"

She pulls herself into a sitting position, her arms crossed and laying on her legs, and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, that... I think so. Want to get out of here soon as possible."

"Go back to sleep," I say, and jump off the bed. I don't leave the room until I hear her shift back underneath the covers.

The lounge is empty. Chairs have been placed on top of the round tables, and the floors are slick from a recent wash. The Chansey stares at me from a gap behind the desk—why do they make the tables higher than Chansey can even see? That never made sense to me—and smiles sadly. "Whatever you did to calm her down, it worked."

"Yeah," I say. Maybe a bit too well.

I spend the last few almost-morning hours in the recovery room with all of the other Pokémon snug in their Pokéballs. Nurse Joy and Chansey have tried their best to turn one of the cots into something comfortable, with blankets and pillows, but I can't quite get comfortable. I can't find the clock in the room, so I have no idea what time it is, but I'm awake for several moments before snuggling deep into one of the plush beds.

All I know is that morning comes too quickly, with a chime-like voice ringing, "Rise and shine, darling! Did you sleep well?"

I grunt, shaking myself out. Nurse Joy comes to scratch my ears before grabbing three Pokéballs and placing them in a carrying tray. "True is waiting outside for you," Joy says. It surprises me that she knows True by name; but then, it's a pretty small Pokémon Center, so maybe she can afford getting a little more personal than the other Joys. "Ready to go see her?"

I sigh and nod, stretching in my bed before jumping down to the tiled floor. It takes me a moment to gather the words, but I finally look up to the petite woman. "Hey. You were here when the Rockets came back, right?"

Joy nods, the sunny expression on her face slipping a bit. "Yes. It was... absolutely awful. The police say that all trainers should be fine to go through Mount Moon, but I'm still wary..."

"We'll be careful," I say, and hope that I'll believe it.

She chuckles. "Yes. Well, I'll be thinking of you. But if you could..." She trails off, lifting her head up to the ceiling. I look up too, just in case there's something crawling up there—I hope not—but when she doesn't look back down, my curiosity is peaked. "If you make it to Cerulean, I wouldn't mind a call. Just to make sure you all are alright."

The request blows me away, to be honest. But then I wonder how many people actually stay at this Pokémon Center for any length of time. And after these few incidents, I wonder if there will be any more trainers coming here for a while. And as though she was listening to my thoughts, she looks back down at me, baby blue eyes glistening in the light.

"Sure. First thing we get to the Pokémon Center," I promise.

She laughs, gesturing me to take the lead. She looks so much nicer when she's smiling.

Just like Joy had said, True is standing in the lobby, hands in her pockets and a solemn expression on her face. I'm feeling nervous, even as True thanks Joy and releases everyone. They all look shaken, and I don't blame them; the last thing they had seen was True falling apart at the seams.

"What the hell happened?!"

"A-Are you oh-okay?"

"You can't just put us in our balls after having a damn _meltdown_!" Kerri snarls, pawing at the floor.

"Now listen," I start—

But True holds out a hand to silence me, and sighs. "Look, I'm... I know that that came out of nowhere, and... and I'm sorry," True says, which manages to stop their protests. "It was just... I don't know how to explain it."

"Explain what, that you went off the rails?" Kerri growls.

I'm close to shocking her, but True steps closer toward the Nidorina, hands shaking. "Yes. It's not a good explanation, I know, and you deserve a better one... but one day I will explain. Not now," she says, shouldering her bag. "Right now, we have to get through Mount Moon."

Kerri looks confused as hell, and I don't blame her. "But I thought those Rockets—"

"They'll probably have gone out by now," I step in. I eye True, who looks surprised for a moment; but she nods, after a moment, maybe confident in my sudden show of confidence. "I talked with Nurse Joy and they should be ?"

Kerri, Peter, and Clara look at each other for a good long minute before looking at the two of us. "Fine," Kerri says. "But don't _ever_ do that again."

"It's not something she can  _control_ ," I hiss.

"Not that," Kerri bites back. "Not explaining things to us. We deserve to know."

I close my eyes, and sigh. "Afterward, we'll explain everything."

We grab a portions of jerky for the road and a box of tissues before stepping outside the Center. Pale sunlight leaks over the mountaintops, casting long shadows. I breathe in fresh air and sigh—beside me, I hear True do the same as she starts preparing the long red rope held tight in her fist.

It's not a total fool-proof method; Escape Ropes work fine for repelling wild Pokémon away and marking a path back to the entrance, but it does nothing against humans. The Pokémon that might be in there don't scare me in the least—Zubat are obnoxious but weak; Geodude won't last a second against Kerri's face-breaking Double Kick; and Paras are so rare that I doubt we'll see any. The only things I'm worried about are wearing black uniforms.

But the thought of an Escape Rope seems to calm down the others enough to get them moving, which I suppose is something. With a final farewell wave to Joy and Chansey, we leave the Center. The black marks are still there; I wonder if they'll be there for a while, or if something—or someone—will come to cover them up.

"They're going to p-pay for this," Peter says.

I turn to him. "You know something we don't?"

"N-No," he admits, but his eyes are still blazing with anger. "B-But if the-they're anything l-like the bul-bullies I knew... and if a-anyone got hurt a-at all... w-we should stop them."

I look at him, stiff with a confidence I never would have thought he'd have, and look to the black marks. "Worse than bullies," I admit. "But just remember, we aren't going to be facing them."

The Center is right next to the entrance to Mount Moon, which rises high above us. It might not be a particularly tall mountain, and the Pokémon might not be very strong, but there are a lot of them. It's a practice in endurance, passing through here.

We all stand in front of the opening, which is only a few heads taller than True. I can't see anything, it's so dark; the thought of going in there blind, quite frankly, terrifies me.

"We sure we want to do this?" Kerri asks, shuffling her feet.

Before any of us can comment, Peter scurries in a little ways, getting inside just enough to hide from view. Not even a minute passes before he's back out, awestruck. "Th-There're these mu-mushrooms that gl-glow inside. It's a-actually pretty br-bright in there."

"At least we'll know where we're walking," I say.

True nods, balling her fists. "Then let's get going." She ties one end of the neon-red rope to a rock just by the entrance, tying it tight so that it doesn't slip away. "Just in case," she explains, and we all nod before stepping in.

We only have to walk in a little ways so that the entrance becomes impossible to see. But Peter wasn't kidding; the mushrooms give off dusky purple light, and it's enough to easily see where we are at any given time. I wonder if it has anything to do with the Paras population in the caves. I wonder if Oak knows about it.

I wonder if Cassidy made her way through here, if she saw these and smiled.

A Zubat swarm flies overhead, screeching—the sound echoes in the caves; I'm thankful for the light, because without it we wouldn't have any idea where they would've been coming from. Between zaps of electricity and sharp pecks, Clara and I fend them off; and after that, we don't see very many other Pokémon.

"No Pokémon in Route Three, no Pokémon in Mount Moon," Kerri mutters. "Ridiculous."

"S-Scary," Peter says instead. I'm more aligned with his thoughts.

Clara has taken it upon herself to perch on one of Kerri's spines, clicking her beak. I sort of feel bad for not being able to understand her; I wonder if she never learned how to talk, or if something happened to her vocal chords. She doesn't seem any worse for wear, though, so I guess if it works for her nothing'll change.

"Just keep your eyes open," True says, wrapping part of the Escape Rope around a rock.

I do keep my eyes open: they're trained on True, who's looking back and forth as if she's expecting someone to pop out behind a boulder. I can see her hands shaking and her eyes darting—she's more nervous than she's letting on. A few days ago I probably would have been able to figure out the source of that nervousness; now, I have no idea what's going on in her head.

I turn around to see Kerri has stopped, her huge ears twitching. "Are you hearing anything?" I ask.

"Someone... I don't—"

"How close?" True asks suddenly, grabbing her bag and gripping it tightly.

"Close. But these caverns echo so badly I can't tell where anything's coming from," Kerri growls.

"Take your best guess and pick a direction," True commands.

Kerri leads the way, ears twitching all the while. Eventually Peter jumps off of her and scuttles ahead; out of all of us he's got the best nose. "You sure you weren't just hearing Zu—"

"T-Trainer!" Peter's voice rings out.

Clara squawks, fluttering off of Kerri in the general direction Peter had fled. "Keep talking!" I call out, following after her. "What're you seeing?"

"Th-There's a girl h-h-here—"

Suddenly there's a scream, high-pitched and feminine. "Keep running!" I which only has us running faster.

We find Peter shaking out in the middle of the path; huddled next to the stone wall, dimly lit by the glowing mushrooms, is the girl. Brown-haired and bug-eyed, she looks like a mess; her clothes are torn and she's shivering, completely wrapped around herself.

I might not have as good a nose as Peter, but even I know what blood smells like.

"Get that th-[i]thing[/i] away from me!" the girl stutters, pointing an accusatory finger at Peter.

True freezes only for a moment before walking slowly toward the stranger; Peter bolts behind Kerri, and even if I'm not right beside him I can feel him shivering.

"He's not going to hurt you," True says, "Peter's a sweetheart."

"Th-The men—" the girl stutters, and then freezes.

Rockets.

"You might want to hang back a bit," I say softly; Peter nods, sighing. I slowly approach the stranger—when I get closer I see her overalls and pigtails. She can't be much older than any of those kids who went off on their own journeys. Hell, maybe she was one of them. "What's your name, sweetheart?" I ask gently.

The girl looks at me with wide eyes, but reaches out a shaking hand to touch me. I let her; she's shaking so badly that I'm moving with her, but as she strokes the top of my head she starts to calm down. "L-Lacey," she says.

True's pulling out sheets of cloth—I'm wondering where the hell she got them—and rips them into strips, wrapping them around the girl's wounds. They're not deep and they're not bleeding that badly, but it's definitely an injury that will need to be looked after. "Do you have any Pokémon with you?" True asks, tying loose knots.

"M-My Cl-Clefairy f-fainted. N-Not dead, but... she can't battle. Sh-She's the o-only one," the girl says.

True doesn't respond. I look at her and see her concentrating intensely on the task at hand. I'm relieved; if she's focused on this, that means she isn't focusing on the Rockets. "A-Ah, th-that's a b-bit to-too tight—"

"Some pressure is good," I say softly, patting her leg. "It'll keep you from bleeding out. You're doing really well," I say.

Clara flutters down to the girl's other side, looking Lacey and down before settling near True. Kerri approaches more slowly, her ears drawn slightly back. "She going to be okay?" the Nidorina asks.

Peter keeps out of sight, but I can just see him, his eyes flashing.

"She's going to be fine, but we need to get out of here," True says. She turns to the girl, who is fixating on her so fiercely I'm almost stunned, and tries to smile. "You wouldn't know how to get out of here, would you?"

"The... the mushrooms turn blue th-the closer you get to Cerulean."

Have we missed that? I look up and, sure enough, the mushrooms do look closer to blue than the dark purple ones that had greeted us at the entrance. "Great," I hear Kerri say, "just follow the colorful mushrooms. _That_ 's going to be helpful."

"It is, Kerri," True says sharply; Kerri flinches, narrows her eyes, and takes a step back. "Unless you want to stay here for the rest of your life?"

"'Course not," Kerri growls, looking away.

"Th-There're Rockets here, though—"

"Don't worry about them," True says. "Can you stand?"

Lacey nods slowly. She takes her hand off of my head and covers it over her bandaged arm. "Th-The Raticate only got my arm."

I look toward Peter, whose ears have perked up. That would explain why the girl reacted so badly to him coming up to her: she probably thought he was another Rocket, coming to finish the job he started.

"If you let me handle those Rockets, will you help us get to Cerulean City?" True asks.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," I say. True's glaring at me now, but I continue. "We have an Escape Rope right here that we can follow."

But to my amazement—and judging by the smile on her face, True's pleasure—Lacey shakes her head. "N-No. I'm headed for Cerulean City anyway. And... there're doctors at Cerulean."

That's true, I suppose; even if we get out of Mount Moon, we'd still have to hike all the way down Route Three before getting back to Pewter. Still, that neon-red rope is tugging at my eye; it means safety, a way out, known. I have no idea what's going to happen from this point on.

Though she's pressed firm against the wall, slender Lacey has managed to stand up, still embracing her arm. There's blood all over her clothes, but now that she's standing I see that it isn't a lot. Twice her size and twice as strong, True wraps an arm around Lacey's shoulders to stabilize her. "If you need to rest, just say the word," True says.

Even though the way is slow-going, we don't have many encounters; the Pokémon that run toward us are scared away by a combination of my Thundershock, Kerri's Double Kick, and Clara's Peck. Lacey has spent enough time in the mountain to know where all the shortcuts are, so we make record time. Once or twice we stop to change the bandages, which are placed in Lacey's bag. (True offered to roll them up in one of her shirts, but Lacey—thank Arceus—had refused.)

We walk until the mushrooms are close to blue, and that's when I say it.

"Anyone else notice how we haven't seen any Rockets?"

We all stop, looking around. There's nothing to be heard except our breath, and nothing to see except us, the shadows, and the mushrooms. "Maybe we got lucky," Lacey suggests.

"No," True says. "There's something else—"

"Rattata, Hyper Fang!"

I can only whip around to see the flying purple bullet before Clara dives down, catching the rodent and lifting it off the ground. She pecks furiously as the Rattata screams, thrashing in her grip. Finally she lets go, and as the Rattata falls the Spearow screeches.

It becomes chaos. "Guard the girls, Kerri!" I shout as a multitude of Zubat and Rattata are released from their balls, racing toward me.

"Let it out. Breathe," I say softly. The charging in my belly builds and builds as the Pokémon race toward me—and then with a shout, I release it. I can't see anything but white, and I can't hear anything except my cry. Not until I cut off the power. When I open my eyes I see the ground now decorated with limp bodies—bodies that reject the beams of light that try to suck them into their Balls. There's a singe-like smell in the air that makes me gag—charred fur, burnt skin.

I have to look away; if I don't, I'm going to throw up, and that's the last thing anyone needs.

I look around to see Clara chasing off a Sandshrew, and Peter—to my amazement—is standing on the body of an Ekans, his tail twitching furiously. Kerri is stamping a Koffing into submission, until it finally deflates into nothingness. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and the cries from the hidden trainers makes it worse.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" I hear a voice ask.

"Get the hell out of here, that's what!"

And then, in the blue light, we see them: dark shapes fleeing. At least five, maybe ten. Small task force.

"GET BACK HERE!" True screams, and starts running toward them—but Kerri grabs onto her shirt and tugs so forcefully that she's forced down on her butt. I watch, wide-eyed, as she turns around to the Nidorina and starts screaming. "We need to follow them," she says forcefully, "before they—"

"They're out of Pokémon. Literally. We don't need to go chasing around those assholes when they've already lost. Lacey needs a doctor. We need to get _out of here._ "

I don't know if it's her stubbornness or a damn gift from Arceus, but that Nidorina has a gift when it comes to knocking sense into hard-headed people. True looks between us and the fleeing Rockets. Her hands are still clenched into fists, but she nods, and sighs. "Fine."

"If it helps at all, they'll probably be in Cerulean," Lacey says. "Unless they're headed somewhere else. It's the closest place this side of Mount Moon."

"We'll have to keep a good look-out," I say. I turn to True with narrowed eyes, crossing my arms. "And we can't be reckless anymore."

True stiffens, but lowers her head and sighs. "Yeah."

Part of me wants to bury the bodies, but I know I'll throw up if I get any closer. So we pass them, bowing our heads in respect. Peter is curled up on top of True's head, burying his face deep into her hair. I don't blame him. If I saw the bodies of people who looked like me littered on a cave floor... Arceus.

"Do we even know what they were here for?" Lacey asks, pointing to a tunnel.

"No. That's what worries me," True says. "We know nothing."

Finally there's a speck of light, a tiny wisp of fresh air; we dart toward it and tumble into lowlands, dark with the dusk. After the stale air of Mount Moon, this is paradise; I greedily drink in as much air as I can get. Clara in particular seems enthusiastic about being near open skies again, because she flies high into the skies with a cry.

Seriously, at some point I have to figure out what's up with that bird.

The city lights are just below us, twinkling like stars on a lake. It takes my breath away. I hear True behind me murmur something, and turn around to see her staring with what I can only call _hunger_ at the city below.

"It's beautiful," Kerri says.

"Tomorrow we'll explore," I say. I look over to Lacey, who looks absolutely pale; she's somehow still standing, albeit on shaking legs, and I breathe a sigh before taking charge. "But first thing's first—let's get you to Cerulean."


	13. Chapter Twelve

At first glance, Cerulean City seems to be Pewter's complete opposite. If there was any gray to be seen, it was only to accent the vibrant blues and greens that painted the town. Lights illuminated the town with soft light, bright enough to dim stars. And even though it's late at night, we pass people enjoying the night air, curling together for warmth on benches or resting by the river's edge. It was almost serene, really.

But the one thing that Cerulean did not have that Pewter does is an understandable layout. I couldn't tell you how many side streets we went down before we found the hospital, but it was a hell of a lot. At least when we finally got to the huge white building we got some response; we hardly had a chance to admire the sterile white walls and chrome _everything_ before a sharp-jawed nurse took Lacey away to start the healing process with a gruff "Don't you worry about a thing."

Considering they literally grabbed her and whisked her behind shiny chrome doors, I think I will worry about it.

The walk toward the Pokémon Center isn't too bad, though, now that we know where we're going. When we don't, Clara just flies up and looks around a bit before guiding us in the right direction. It only takes about fifteen minutes instead of five hours, so I guess that's something.

While True checks us in for a room, I run over to one of the videophones and select the Mount Moon Joy from a list of contacts. I hardly have to wait five seconds before the line picks up and the screen blinks to life. Joy looks like she's been stampeded by Tauros; her hair's completely frizzled and she has bags under her eyes; but the second she sees me, she smiles, and I don't know whether to feel good or bad about that. "Oh, thank goodness. Are you in Cerulean?"

"Yeah. Had to drop off a girl at the hospital before we came here, otherwise I'd've called sooner." Her face starts falling immediately after I say that, and I quickly add a hasty "She'll be fine! Doctors seem a little rough around the edges, but I don't think they'll kill her."

"Oh," she says. "I suppose that's good. Did you have any trouble passing through?"

I pause for a moment, and that's enough for the smile to completely slide off of Joy's face. "No, no, we're fine. We ran into them but there wasn't... nobody got seriously hurt. Well, I guess Lacey did, but—"

"Casey. It's okay."

I sigh. "Sorry to say this, but you look like a wreck. Everything okay there?"

"Alright, I suppose—"

There's a DING on the other line, like a bell. "That's the police. Must have finished an inspection." She looks to something past the computer and murmurs a quick "I'll be right there!" before returning to me. "I'm so glad you called, Casey, but I have to go. You don't need to call me back."

"No problem at all. Good luck out there."

"I'll try," she says, laughing softly. "Now get some rest!"

I end the conversation just as True walks toward me, rubbing the back of her neck. "Who were you talking to?"

"The Nurse Joy from the Center right before Mount Moon," I say, jumping off of the table. "Asked me to call when we got here."

True just nods before revealing a card key. "Do you... do you want to stay in my room tonight, or would you rather sleep with Joy?"

We don't say anything for a long time—we just stare at each other, to the point where it almost gets awkward. "It won't... it won't hurt my feelings if you decide to stay down here, I was just—"

"I'm coming," I say.

True doesn't say anything; she just nods. She leads me up to a staircase, and we walk together to the seventh door on the right. With a quick swipe of a card she pushes the door open. I'm taken slightly aback by the various shades of green and blue, but I guess that's the risk you run when staying in a city known for its water-type fanatics. I jump up on one of the beds, intent on just sinking in for a little bit—

And, well, that's exactly what I get. The mattress damn near sucks me up, and on instinct I try and paw my way out. I can hear True laughing her ass off, and I whip around to glare at her. "What the fuck?!" I scream, the hairs along my spine bristling.

"W-Water b-beds!" True forces out. She's laughing so hard now that she's clutching her stomach and bending over. I growl, punching the bed.

"Who the hell _does_ this?" I don't know who the hell was thinking that water beds would be a good idea for trainers, but they needed to be severely punished. Maybe by sleeping on the damn beds.

True calms down enough to actually start coherently speaking again, and I guess I'm grateful for that. "I don't know, but the look on your face was _priceless_."

I snort, but as True starts giggling again I roll my eyes and smile. "Glad you got a kick out of that. Is that why you wanted me in here?"

She shakes her head. True takes a few steps toward the bed before stopping, like she just remembered what just happened to me; instead, she sits down on the floor, which doesn't threaten to suck her up. I lean on the edge—where the mattress doesn't _fucking move_ —to stare at her, careful not to puncture anything. I don't know why I don't just jump off the damn bed.

"No," she finally says, drawing her legs up close to her chest. "I... was really stupid in Mount Moon. You and Kerri were right to get me back in line."

I close my eyes and sigh. "You know that going against Team Rocket like this isn't going to fix anything, right?"

"Of course I do," I hear her say. "It just..."

I open my eyes when she doesn't say anything for a minute or so; she's looking down at the floor, speechless, and it doesn't look like she's going to be saying anything anytime soon.

The problem is, I don't have anything to say either.

It's an uncomfortable silence, one that isn't punctured by any words or anyone turning the TV on. There isn't a Kerri to knock some sense into both of our heads; she's down with the others, getting some well-deserved rest. We don't say anything for the rest of the night; True just slips into pajamas, turns off all the lights, and quietly slips into bed (with way more grace than I managed to). I don't move very far from my initial perch on the edge of the bed.

That night, we sleep in silence.

* * *

 

"Pass me the chow, I'm _starving_."

Morning is easier, at least; breakfast is a lively affair, with all of us ringing around a table. Kerri is nose-deep in a bowl of specialized poison-type Pokémon Food, munching away noisily. Peter nibbles on scraps of Clara's bird food in between bites of cheese and crackers. I somehow manage to steal a few bites when he isn't looking, which I'm pretty proud of.

It helps hide the bitter aftertaste of the electric-type food, at least. The stuff tastes alright, but the texture is awful; I think cardboard would feel better going down than this shit ever would. I know it's because we have a match coming up, and if we don't find a grass-type, I'm going to be the "Star Player."

True has to pack up half of the bowl; she says she'll save it "for later." I'm already dreading it.

"Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to check out the gym," True says, shouldering her bag. We take any bowls and plates up to the main counter—there's not a speck of extra food to throw away, thanks in large part to Peter and Clara's huge appetites. "I already know it's a water gym..."

"Guess it's time for you to start pulling your weight, huh?" Kerri teases.

I groan. "Please stop saying that."

"S'not as hard as you'd think. I mean, I almost got my spine broken—"

" _Kerri_ ," I hear True hiss.

"But I doubt that'll happen to you," she finishes with a shrug. "Water-types are hardly anything to worry about for someone with a natural type advantage."

That's the damn problem. I'm expected to win this, probably blindfolded. I took care of the grunts in Mount Moon fine enough, I guess, but there's a huge difference between them and Pokémon specifically trained by masters. I don't feel like dying anytime soon, is all.

"Y-You'll do gr-great," Peter says, his whiskers twitching amiably.

All I can do is shake my head and wonder if there's any way they're right.

The greatest part of this Pokémon Center is the huge directory that stands right beside the main door, which clearly outlines the city. "Looks like the gym is only a block or so away from here," True says, tracing a path with her finger. "So if we take a left here..."

"You might want to find something else to do."

The sudden voice makes all of us jump, but I'm the one who's smiling when I see a very familiar Eevee coming up to us. "Fancy seeing you around here," I greet, which earns me a chuckle.

Kerri shoves me to the side, glaring down at Cassidy. "What do you mean, we should 'find something else to do'?"

Cassidy puffs out the cream fur around her neck, lifting her head. "Gym's closed for today. Apparently the leader's out on some business."

"Seems awfully s-strange," I hear Peter remark. Clara answers with a soft warble.

"Very. There's a sign on the door and everything," Cassidy says, looking Kerri right in the eye. "In case you don't believe me."

Kerri snarls. The exchange has been quick enough that True is only just noticing the situation, and she walks to Kerri with a stern glance. I match it muscle for muscle.

"Getting yourself into trouble again, Cass?" a nasally voice asks. Every head is drawn to Gary, who has his hands in his pockets and a smug look on his face. "Ought to be careful."

"They're not causing any problems, Gary," Cassidy says, before any of us can say anything. "We're just talking about the gym closure."

"Ah yeah, that. Good thing we got our badge when we did, huh?" Gary asks.

"You already battled the gym leader?" True asks incredulously.

"Easy as hell battle for my team," says Gary. The confidence that's oozing from him makes me want to gag; I actually turn to Cassidy, and almost laugh when she rolls her eyes. There's a bit of pride in her too, though, judging by the light in her eyes.

"I guess that's good for you, Electric Man," Kerri says.

It's conflicting as hell, and I scoff. Cassidy chuckles. "She was pretty easy, though. You shouldn't have a problem with her."

Damn it, I can _feel_ the heat rising to my cheeks. Shit. "So uh, what're you gonna go do now?" I ask, rubbing the side of my face. Maybe if I do this I can pass off the growing redness as friction...

"We're off to the next route to do some training," Cassidy answers.

"Bet they're not even that strong," I hear Kerri murmur behind me.

Apparently Gary did too, because he steps toward the Nidorina. "Betcha you're wrong," he taunts.

"Knock it off, Gary," True says, frowning.

"No. You know what? I bet my team can make your team faint in five minutes."

True's eyes narrow. "You think I'm _that_ incompetent?"

"Just that I can take you in a battle," he retorts. "Anytime. Any _where._ "

"Oh _really_ ," True says.

"Yeah!"

By now every head is turned toward us. I see Nurse Joy looking at us with a stern expression on her face, and I sigh. "If this is going the route I think it's going, can't we at least take it outside?"

True, Gary, and Kerri answer with a firm "Fine with me."

Just like that we're outside, standing on opposite sides of an open plaza just outside the Pokémon Center. Gary already has a Pokéball in his hand, tossing it up and down like a baseball. True's closed her hand in a fist again, staring him down.

Cassidy and I stand right beside our trainers. She seems interested in the battle, eying True with a strange look on her face. That alone almost has me sparking, but I stifle the urge to release.

"Ready to get your ass kicked back to Pallet Town?" Gary taunts.

"In your dreams, Gary," True retorts right back.

Without another word, Gary throws open his Pokéball. As it flies back into his hand I watch as the beam of light materializes into a Sandshrew, who looks around for a few moments before fixating on True and laughing. "Finally get to battle something?"

"You would've died in that gym, Sheldon," Gary says.

"Fine." Sheldon swipes his claws against each other, like he's sharpening knives or something; I feel my skin start crawling at the sight of it.

"Think you've got this one, Clara?" True asks. With a confident squawk the Spearow nods, flying into the battlefield.

"Sheldon, Scratch!"

"Fly up and evade, Clara!"

It only takes a few pumps of her wings for Clara to get away from the leaping Sandshrew, who swipes at the air furiously. I have to wonder if he's trying to learn Fury Swipes more quickly, or if that's just his attacking style: hit hard and fast and hope you get something. But Clara just laughs; even from here I can see her smirking.

"Now use Peck!" True cries. Almost the second the command leaves her lips, Clara's diving down with her wings pulled in to increase speed. Just before I think she's about to hit the ground she pulls up, striking past Sheldon. He gets thrown to the ground and moans, but after a bit of whining he pushes himself back up. There's fury in his eyes, and I gulp.

"Try and get it with a Scratch!" Gary shouts. The Sandshrew is fast—but Clara is faster, because without a word from True she pulls up and swerves behind. She pecks at Sheldon furiously, until her beak is only a blur. By the time she relents, Sheldon crashes to the ground right in front of me. I can see bleeding marks where Clara made contact, and look up at her to see bits of blood staining her beak.

The Sandshrew is called into his ball without a word from Gary; instead he releases his own Spearow, who at first glance seems larger than our Clara.

"Take a rest, Clara, come on back." She points Clara's ball to her, and suddenly the smaller Spearow is spirited out of sight. "Peter, you up for some battling?"

"Y-Yeah!" he says confidently, jumping out onto the field.

"Ever try to teach your Pokémon how to speak, True?" Gary sneers. "Go grab that rat, Jet!"

True only narrows her eyes, saying nothing. Jet certainly lives up to his namesake, because he swoops in toward Peter without any sign of slowing down—

"Now jump!"

But with lightning-fast reflexes, Peter jumps away at the last possible second, hardly a hair out of place.

"Jet, go use Fury Attack!"

Peter crouches low to the ground, his tail twitching. My eyes can hardly follow Jet as he flies toward Peter, but just as he starts to slow down to land the attack, Peter jumps out, mouth wide open.

"Hyper Fang, let's go!" True shouts, and Peter chomps down hard.

Jet shrieks, beating his wings back and forth and thrashing in an attempt to get Peter off. But that damned rat just holds on, biting down harder and harder until the Spearow finally starts pecking his head.

Blood on his teeth, Peter retreats, gold eyes flashing. Jet stands erect, wings flared, and starts inching forward—but then, without even a moan, he too falls onto the ground.

Gary buries his hands into his hair; normally this would have made me laugh, but I'm still too stunned by the ferocity of my teammates to do anything other than stare. "They did fine before."

"Are we stopping now, or are we going to keep going?" True asks.

"No, we—"

"Gary, we're done."

Gary turns to Cassidy, who has positioned herself right in front of him. "We came to the Pokémon Center in the first place to rest. I'm tired, Joey is just as tired, and I seriously doubt Sheldon and Jet are going to be in the mood to fight anymore. Stop now before someone seriously gets hurt."

Gary scowls, hanging his head and pulling at his hair. "We just need to keep training."

"We will," Cassidy says. "Later, when we've had a longer rest. Now get inside and get everyone checked in. I'll be in in a minute."

Finally, with a huff, Gary brushes past True so hard that she actually recoils. The sliding doors open for Gary Oak, who we hear screaming in the lobby, before closing in on him.

"I didn't even get to battle," Kerri scowls.

"Y-You'll get the chance," Peter says, licking his huge teeth.

"You will," Cassidy promises. "Gary will want a rematch soon. But I think he'll want to train before then, so you have some time."

"We don't need time," Kerri growls.

"Kerri, enough," I say. "Cassidy's not doing anything."

But to my amazement, the Nidorina scoffs. "Whatever." Without another word she walks off. Peter follows her too, calling her name.

True sighs, pressing her head against her hand. "Guess I better go talk to them."

"I'll be with you in a minute," I say. True nods, and without another word starts walking after Kerri and Peter.

"Interesting team you have there," Cassidy says, brushing close to me. Her smell has changed; there's more dirt and grass, less sterile lab smell. But the sweetness of her breath is still there, and for some reason that's a comfort.

"They're certainly... yeah, I can't think of a better word than interesting." That makes both of us laugh, which feels good; it feels [i]good[/i] to just be with someone without worrying about the next fight or saying something stupid. "And your team seems... good?"

"They're alright," she says, "even if they are a bit... reckless."

"You've met Kerri and you're calling _them_ reckless?" I ask incredulously.

"Battles don't tell you much about a Pokémon's personality," she counters. "Battling style, sure. But such a huge part of it is the trainer's commands, and... they love to listen to Gary."

"Wish they wouldn't. He's an ass."

"He isn't that bad," Cassidy says, lowering her voice. "He just needs some more time."

I can't help thinking he needs more than time. A cold shower, maybe, and a huge personality check. "You're going to be in town for the rest of the night, then?"

Cassidy nods. "We've been training so hard that we need the rest. I'm guessing you'll be here for at least a few days?"

I sigh, nodding. "Training. Getting ready for the gym. All that."

Suddenly Cassidy leans close to me; I can feel her lips tickle my ear, and I can't help but shudder. "I found this underground club last night that does karaoke. Want to go check it out?"

The idea of spending a night alone, without True... it doesn't sound as frightening as it might have even a few days ago. It might even be good for me. "Let's see how today's training goes. I'll get back to you?"

"Sounds fine with me," Cassidy says. She looks toward the Center doors and sighs. "Just don't forget, alright?"

"I'll try," I say.

With a smile and a nod, Cassidy leaves, disappearing through the automatic doors. I can't move for a moment, but eventually I'm able to shake the stillness and her scent out of my body.

"Get your head together, Case," I tell myself, before following True's path. My nose might not be the greatest, but I figure I can smell the rage that was radiating off of Kerri.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

"You're looking for what, now?"

"A girl and a Rattata chasing an overemotional Nidorina," I say, for what is probably the thousandth time. "Have you seen them?"

And just like the thousand times I'd asked this question... "No, don't think so."

The good thing about waiting to follow my team was that I got a few moments to spend with Cassidy. I had plans for tonight that didn't involve battling or sharing awkward silences with True or, Arceus forbid, fighting with Kerri again. As much as I didn't hate my team, sometimes I needed a break away from being a fighter. Before this whole journey had begun, I'd have a life. Here was a chance, if only for a night, to go back to it.

Of course, even those few minutes of delay made it damn near impossible to track them down again. I might have started in the right general direction, but this town had more twists and turns than even I had anticipated. Nighttime made Cerulean City look like a beautiful sprawling mess—daytime, well... it was just a sprawling mess.

From what I could remember from the map, there were four ways out of the main city: north, across the river; west, where we had just come from; south, heading toward Saffron and Vermillion; and east, which heads for another cavern path. So after about an hour of wandering around like an idiot, I decide to just head as far north as I can. Even if I don't run into that group of knuckleheads, at least I'll be out of this damn maze.

"If I ever find whoever designed this damn city, I swear to Arceus," I grumble.

I manage to walk into houses and people, still not completely sure where I'm going. At least now when I ask them where the bridge is, people can point me in the right direction. That's a start, I guess. Even with a few misguided tourists giving me shitty directions, I manage to get to the northern-most exit.

The river probably would have been a better landmark to find by myself, now that I think about it. It winds along the western side of the city, slipping under the bridge before disappearing between two cliffs. It's pretty, the way it glistens in the high-noon sun, and stupidly clear; I guess being a city so tied to water-type Pokémon means they've got fantastic ways to combat pollution.

I only have a moment of peace before I hear wingbeats. Well, thank Arceus—guess True let Clara out to try and find me. "Look, next time we separate, let's just—"

But when I turn around to finish my sentence, I stop. It's not Clara at all who's found me, but a large Zubat who hovers for a few moments before perching on top of my head. The sudden weight on my head is uncomfortable, and I growl. "There a reason you're using my _head_ to take a rest on?"

"You looked comfy," the bat said simply. I didn't know whether to consider that a compliment or an insult.

"Well, I'm not a chair." I shake my head, but the Zubat is adamant; instead of letting go, she holds on tighter. Her two tails wrap around my neck; the sudden lack of oxygen makes me panic, and out of habit I release a quick jolt of electricity.

It has the intended affect, at least; with a squeak the Zubat flutters off, leaving me to catch my breath. "Alright alright already, I'll move! Sheesh."

"I warned you," I say simply, rubbing a paw against my throat. At least there aren't any marks, and my breathing is already returning to normal. "What're you doing out here, anyway?"

"Some Zubat don't mind the outside, ya know," she remarks. "Sun feels good after all the dark."

"No offense," I start, "but can you even... see where you're going?"

I don't know if I should be glad or nervous when she starts laughing; it's a creepy shrill laugh, which sends shivers down my spine. "I didn't knock into ya, did I?"

She has a point, I guess.

"'Sides," the Zubat says, "that's not why I'm here. I've been flyin' around and I've seen you wanderin' around. You lookin' for someone?"

"My... trainer," I say slowly, narrowing my eyes. "You seen a girl with a Nidorina and a Rattata around? Or—"

She answers with a grin, and I swear to Arceus it's just as creepy—if not more so—than her laugh. "Think they're farther down the bridge. Huge group'a trainers rarin' for a fight. That Nidorina charged headlong after them."

There was no way she could have been that pissed off about not being able to fight. No fucking way. "I'm guessing they're there now?"

"Chances're pretty good," the Zubat says, pushing herself higher into the sky.

"Uh, thanks. You got a name so I can, uh, stop calling you 'Zubat'?"

"Ah, Zubat's fine with me," the Zubat says with another chuckle. "But if it helps ya sleep at night..." Without another word she dives down toward me, flicking me on the top of the head with her tails, and cackles. "It's Strike."

Rubbing the top of my head, I watch as she flies over and past the bridge, disappearing between trees. I look up and around, trying to catch any other flying shapes, but I don't see a damned thing.

Is this supposed to be some Arceus-given sign for me to keep going? I look up at the sign, gleaming gold in the sunlight, that stands proudly to the left of the bridge.

NUGGET BRIDGE

DEFEAT OUR TRAINERS, WIN PRIZES!

Now, a Pokémon going down a bridge full of hyperactive, "catch the first thing you see" trainers, without a trainer of my own, was probably the stupidest idea I've ever had. But even though I hate going into my Pokéball, I still have one. That simple fact should help me out.

After the first few steps on the gold-painted bridge, I narrow my eyes. I would have thought there would be trainers waiting for challengers to beat up; except for a couple who're leaning over the edge making goo-goo eyes at each other, there isn't anyone on the bridge itself. So I climb the thing to get a better look.

Just like Strike said, I see a giant mob of people at the bridge's end. The thing has to be at least half a mile long, but even from hear I can hear battle cries of Pokémon—and when I hear the shrill shriek of a Spearow, I immediately race toward the mass gathering.

The only Pokémon on the outside of the group is a Pidgey perched on its trainer's shoulder; as I get closer I can see its beak curled up in a nasty smile, and immediately I start to spark. "What the hell is going on here?" I ask.

Here's where I know something big's going on: that question doesn't draw anyone's head a little bit, only that Pidgey who was already fixated on me.

"Big smackdown between a trainer and—"

But we're interrupted by a pair of furious battle cries: a hissing that I don't know, and a screeching that I do. Without another word I press myself past legs until I finally see the open clearing.

The first thing I see is the blurring motion between Clara and an Ekans, whose tail is rattling threateningly. The purple Snake Pokémon lunges time and time again for Clara, but recoils every time she goes in to strike with her talons, missing by inches. Finally Clara strikes a hit, lunging so fast at the Ekans that both of them are thrown against trainers.

"Clara, you okay?" I hear True yell, and immediately turn toward her.

I'm not surprised to see True completely focused on the battle; I'm not even surprised by the ferocity in her eyes, watching Clara and the Ekans push away from the crowd. What I'm not expecting is the small Charmander currently cradled in her arms. Even from here I can see it shivering, watching with wide eyes. Kerri's standing in front of both of them, covered in scratches and blood with her head bowed. Even with all her wounds, it's a stance that's meant to intimidate, and it works; while most of the circle is trainers pressed against each other, there's a good three feet gap between True and everyone else.

The Nidorina sees me and snarls. "Where the fuck have you been?"

I'm not about to back down from her, not now after I've spent hours looking for them, when it was _her_ fault for running off in the first place. "Looking for you!"

The Charmander turns to look at me, and shies deeper into True's embrace. It doesn't divert her attention from Clara, who's back in the air playing Meowth-and-Rattata with the Ekans. Finally Clara gets close enough and strikes with her talons, digging deep into the Ekans's face; the purple Snake Pokémon is sent recoiling once again, but this time doesn't get up.

I hold my breath for a moment, but when a man in a black suit pulls out a Pokéball and recalls the Ekans, I sigh. Not dead. Clara disappears in a similar red light, leaving behind a few traces of blood.

"Impressive. We could use someone like you, you know."

I can only call the look on True's face a snarl; she's gritting her teeth and almost growling, almost a perfect match for Kerri. "If you think you can convince me to join you—"

"Not join," the man says. "Not yet. Even with your... background, you wouldn't make a member quite yet."

"Don't insult me," True snaps. "Get the hell out of Cerulean."

This can't be what I'm thinking—

"Who're you to say what I should do?" he remarks, taking a step toward True.

Immediately I release a Thundershock, which strikes just beside the man's foot. He turns toward me, glaring, but I growl in return. "That's enough, Rocket."

But instead of running away, the man simply wipes his shoe against the ground, kicking up dust. His greasy black hair presses against his hea"Looks like another piece of trash to take care of."

Before I can react, I feel hands grab me, lifting me into the air. I thrash around, trying to get out of their grip, but the hold is firm. I'm too tired to release any more electricity; even if I could, it probably wouldn't be enough to seriously hurt anyone.

"Now I'll only say this one more time," the man says. "Hand over that Charmander."

"Do you think you can scare me?" I hear True snarl.

"Yeah, actually," he says. "Because I'm bigger, I'm stronger, I'm better. And there isn't anyone here who can help you."

I'm struggling too hard to see exactly what happens next: all I know is that there's suddenly water everywhere, and two spinning shapes that scatter the crowd. I feel the hold slacken and drop to the ground, just narrowly avoiding being trampled to death; immediately I rush to True and Kerri, who are pressed together to shield the Charmander from the watery blast.

There are fleeing people everywhere, and in seconds there are only two people left.

No. I look up to see a teenage girl with bright orange hair standing at the entrance to Route Twenty Five, wearing a bright yellow top and red suspenders. The spinning shapes slow down until I can make them out: two star-shaped Pokémon, one a sandy brown and one a dark purple, each with jewels in their centers. Staryu and Starmie. They hover behind the girl, eerily still and faceless, as she smirks, holding two Pokéballs in her hands.

"I think I can," the girl says.

I'm at True's side now, and press against her—she's shaking, and I curse myself for not having found her sooner. She raises her head and looks at me with tears in her eyes. "Oh, thank Mew," she says. Kerri says nothing at all, instead pushing her nose against the Charmander's forehead.

All of us turn toward the confrontation; us with wide eyes, and the Rocket with a sneer. "Thought the Gym Leader was away on business."

"I'm never away from here for too long," the girl retorts. "As the Gym Leader of Cerulean City, I order you to _get the hell out of my city_."

You could see the snarl on the Rocket's face drop into an "oh shit" expression. "You're just gonna let me go?"

"You're out of Pokémon, and if you had another kind of weapon you would have used it by now. Get out of here before I call the Police."

The Rocket's hand curls into a fist, and at first I wonder if he's going to try to start a fist fight. But after a moment he just scowls and runs down the bridge.

"Make sure he gets out of here," the Gym Leader says, and without another word both Staryu and Starmie spin off, following the fleeing man.

Immediately the orange-haired girl is by our side, pulling out a Potion and spraying it on Kerri. "You all should be alright now," she says.

"Th-thanks," True says, looking up at her. "You're the... gym leader?"

"Yeah, Misty," she says. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, though," she says, with an edge in her voice.

"We were doing just fine," Kerri growls, glaring down at me. I don't even get mad at it, though I do glare back at her.

Suddenly the Charmander pokes its head out of True's embrace, staring down at me with blue-green eyes. I blink, my ears perking up. "You know that's a—?"

"Of course I know," True says softly. "We just... found him out here, being attacked by all those trainers."

"If that's what I think it is," Misty says, before stopping. "Let's get all of you to the Pokémon Center and we can talk there. Everyone'll need a rest."

That's when Kerri collapses onto the ground; even with the Potion she's seriously hurt, and is panting. True immediately reaches for her Pokéball and points it at the Nidorina, who disappears in a flash of red.

The walk back to the Center doesn't take long at all, especially since we have someone with us who actually knows the city. We get several stares from passerby—most of them are directed at the small Charmander resting in True's arms, but there are a lot of people who greet Misty on her return from her business trip.

It gets worse when we get to the Pokémon Center, where she gets mobbed by young trainers demanding gym battles. She tells them all to go to the gym to schedule matches, and almost instantaneously the Center becomes empty.

Joy only has to take one look at True, who has a few cuts and bruises, and the Charmander, who is still shaking a bit, before preparing a machine. "You just have to give me your Pokéballs, and this machine will heal them right up."

"Um, my Pikachu doesn't like to be in his ball.. And this Charmander..."

"And you just found him on the side of the road?" Joy asks incredulously, before shaking her head. "Poor dear. That's fine, we'll be able to treat them, too."

It takes a bit of coaxing, but finally the Charmander allows himself to be separated from True. I follow him into the healing room, where we're fussed over by nurses and Chansey. The orange lizard keeps flinching whenever one of the Chansey try to heal his wounds; eventually it takes a Butterfree putting him to sleep to make him stand still long enough to get treated.

I almost ask for a dose of Sleep Powder myself, but then think against it.

It's a relatively quick process, at least, and by the time the Charmander has woken up everyone's healed. We're given to True, who's got a few bandages of her own now. As True fusses over Kerri and Clara, who probably took the most of the damage, my eyes go to Misty, who has been found by Staryu and Starmie. I can only catch glimpses of their conversation, but finally I hear her say, "Go back to the gym and relax a bit; I think we'll have to battle a lot in the next few days."

And without a word, the two of them fly out of the Center. Misty sighs, rubbing her shoulder, before turning to us. "I don't know if this is a conversation you want to have in the open, so—"

"I have a room," True says.

"That'd work great," the other girl responds.

As a mass group we go into True's room, which is just presentable enough to not cause embarrassment. Peter and Clara sniff at the water bed; Kerri avoids it altogether, instead settling down on the side of the wall. I watch the Charmander follow her, settling down beside her without a word. I watch and wait for the Nidorina to push him away—but to my surprise, she simply drapes her tail over him.

Kerri immediately notices me looking and growls. "Don't you dare think I'm going soft."

I roll my eyes. "'Course not."

True sits down at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on her knees. Misty claims the one chair, tucked in the corner, matching True's body posture. The orange-haired girl sighs, resting her cheek against her hand. "I guess it'd be best if you started from the beginning."

"Oh, uh, sure. Well, we... only got here last night, after crossing Mount Moon—"

"With the Rockets?" Misty asks, her blue eyes widening.

"Uh, yeah," True says uneasily. "We crossed through safely, I mean, and... we were exploring the city. Eventually we came to Nugget Bridge and started to take the challenge."

"'Cause I wanted to fight," Kerri interjects. I have to try really hard not to go over and strangle her.

"And we beat all of the trainers. We got to the end of the bridge and I saw the man with the Charmander. He was... I don't even know what he was _doing_. But I heard him crying out and so we went to investigate."

"H-He didn't want us t-to come over," Peter says, jumping beds to stare down at us. "He s-sent out a Zubat wh-who flew off past the bridge. We d-didn't see her af-after that."

Oh, Arceus. "I think I saw that Zubat," I say. Every head turns to me, and their stares are so heavy I sag.

"When was that?" True asks.

"When I got separated from you, I looked over this damn city—No offense," I say, turning to Misty.

"None at all. I still get lost from time to time," Misty says with a shrug.

At least that makes me feel a tiny bit better. "Anyway. I came to the bridge and she told me you guys were on the other side. _Shit_ ," I murmur. "Maybe it was part of their plan."

"To do what, take a Charmander? Why send a Pokémon who can battle off to do Mew knows what when there're trainers around?" Kerri asks.

"It's still suspicious," Misty says.

"And while we're on the subject, where the hell did he even come from?"

"Mountain."

We turn toward the Charmander, who pushes Kerri's tail away to walk toward us. He can't be very old with a voice as high as it is, or maybe he's just got one of those voices. "Lived on the mountain," he says, pointing outside.

"There're wild Charmander living in Kanto?" True asks incredulously. "I thought Professor Oak bred all the starters."

I shake my head. "He does, but they're not the only way to get them. We knew there was a population of Charmander in the mountains north of Mount Moon. But they never come down, and nobody ever comes up."

"What made you leave, kid?" Kerri asks, lowering her head.

The Charmander doesn't say anything for a bit, but then he finally says one word: "Men."

Misty hangs her head, grabbing at her hair with both hands. "That probably means Team Rocket was involved."

"Not necessarily," I say, crossing my arms. "Just because most Charmander and Charizard stay up on that mountain doesn't mean all of them do."

"Mama wanted an adventure," the Charmander says softly. Rests my case pretty damn well.

"Well, I don't think there's a way to get to that mountain right now," True says. She pushes herself off of the bed and, slowly, lowers herself to the ground so that she's eye level with the Charmander. "Do you have a name?"

He thinks for a moment before nodding. "Jackson."

It was a good, strong name, matching a strong physique. I met Kerri's eyes, and we both nodded; he had potential.

"Jackson, I can't get you back home right now. But I might be able to help you find your mama, if you'd like to come with me."

"Do I get to battle?" Jackson asked.

"If you want to," True says.

Kerri smirks. "I'll teach you how to be the best damn battler. You'll impress your mama when you see her again."

Jackson's eyes go wide, but then he smiles. "Kay!"

Misty chuckles, before pushing herself off the chair. "I guess that part's settled then, at least. Think I'll head back down to the gym and set things up. If Team Rocket is getting more active, I have to let the other Leaders know."

She almost gets to the door before pausing, turning to True. "You came here to Cerulean for a gym battle originally, right?"

Shit.

"Yeah, I did," True says.

"Tell you what," Misty says. "I'll save a spot for you this Friday for a gym match around two in the afternoon, if you're interested in it."

No we're not, I want to say. We were only here to enjoy the scenery. But my throat closes up on me, and I'm helpless to say anything as True nods. Today's only Tuesday; I have three days to get in good enough shape to defeat Misty for a badge.

"That would be great!"

Misty smiles. "Then I'll see you this Friday," she says, before closing the door behind her.

"Battle now?" Jackson asks, wagging his burning tail behind him.

"Let's rest for a little bit, Jackson," True laughs, "and then maybe."

"You can go teach Casey how not to be a coward," Kerri says snidely.

I feel electricity nip at my face. "No 'thanks for stopping that Rocket from kicking me in the face,' Kerri?"

Immediately Kerri glares at me. "With that puny Thundershock? Please."

"Guys, enough," True interjects, outstretching her arms to put distance between us. "We've all been through a lot in the past few hours, let's just—"

"No. I'm getting out for the night," I growl. The window is open just enough for me to slip through, and the tree growing outside provides an excellent way of getting down to the ground.

"Casey, please—"

"I'm going to hang out with Cassidy," I say, jumping onto the window ledge.

"That little fluff-ball? You're seriously leaving us for—?!"

" _For the night!_ " I shout, whipping my head toward Kerri. "Tomorrow I'll become a mindless battler like the rest of you seem so glad to be. No complaints. But for tonight I'm going to just... think about some things. _Alone_."

And before Kerri or True has a chance to say anything, before I can think about changing my mind, I slam the window shut behind me and jump to the tree, making my way down onto the ground.

Looks like I'm going to a club tonight.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

It strikes me, when the sun has started to set, that Cassidy and I never agreed on a place to meet up.

True doesn't come out to find me. I take this as a good sign, for now. The damage has already been done, anyway; if I go back tonight, with Kerri there, the two of us would just start screaming at each other again. That wouldn't do anything to make the situation any better; with three stubborn hotheads in the room, we'd probably make the room explode. No—the best thing to do is just keep separate from them and cool down.

But I'm pretty sure that if I go too far away from the Center, I'll end up getting lost, and that won't do anyone any good. So I wait right outside the Center door, arms folded. A few people stop and point fingers at me, exclaiming things like "Oooh, a Pikachu!" or "Look at those freckles, how cute!" It doesn't bother me much, mostly because I've heard plenty of things like that from little kids for years. I look down at my arms, splattered with freckles, and chuckle. At least it's easy to pick me out of a crowd.

I'm not quite sure how long I've been out here—it's been long enough that the lights are starting to flicker on, which has to mean a few hours have passed. My whole body feels numb from staying the same position for too long; every time I move I hear something pop or crack.

Finally the doors open and Cassidy walks out, looking around for me. "Where is that Pikachu," she mutters, narrowing her eyes.

I whip my head so fast that I hear my neck crack, and I hiss. "Right out here," I groan, rubbing the back of my neck.

She jumps as she faces me, but when she recognizes me the Eevee only laughs. "I hate it when you do that."

"But I'm so good at it," I counter with a grin.

"Wha... how long have you been out here?" She's looking at me like I've grown a fifth leg or something; I probably don't look the greatest, hunched over and creaking. But when I walk toward her I feel my muscles loosening again. It feels good to move.

"Few hours. But don't worry about me."

"You're sure you want to go out?" Her eyes flick from me to the Center. "Because we can—"

"No! No," I say, sighing. "I want to. I think I'v, uh, been been needing this."

"One week on the job and you're already stressed out?" Cassidy teases, flicking one of her large ears against mine.

I don't say anything, but push against her side playfully. I can see the concerned look on her face, but she doesn't say anything either. Instead, she just starts walking for our destination. I follow her, not really paying much attention to where we're going. People, Pokémon, and buildings pass in a blur. We don't talk, just walk in a companionable silence. After everything that's happened, it feels really good to just... not say anything.

She leads me through alleys that look somewhat familiar; then I hear the rushing of the river, and my stomach drops. "We're not going to that bridge, are we?"

Cassidy turns to look at me, confused. "No. It's just a little ways away from the bridge; I thought this would be the fastest way to get there."

I'm not convinced. "How do you even know where the hell you're going?"

She smirks, lifting her head proudly. "A sense of direction is a wonderful thing."

She finally stops in front of a shabby-looking building with a door. I can only just see the faded words on the sign, declaring the place as "CHESTER'S BAR AND GRILL." I look between the sign and the door and Cassidy, but just before I open my mouth to say something, the Eevee leans against the door, knocking it with her front paw.

A minute passes. Two. Finally I turn to Cassidy, who's looking up at the door, and lean in to whisper in her ear. "You sure you have the right house?"

But right after I ask the question, the door opens a crack. Just from that sliver I can see soft amber lights illuminating a dark shape that sits low to the ground. "Who's here?"

"My name's Cassidy," the Eevee says, "and this is Casey. We're here for—"

"Don't say it out loud, sheesh," the voice behind the door hisses. "You here for... ya know?"

I glance nervously to Cassidy, but she only grins at me. "Relax." She turns back to the shadowy figure and nods. "For good drinks and a better time."

Finally I hear a chuckle, and the door opens just enough to let us in. Once we're in the light, I see the purple skin and large ears of a Nidorino, who looks me over with a glint in his eye. I smile hesitantly and wave, which makes him laugh. "This the one you were talking about last night?" he asks, turning one green eye to Cassidy.

"Yeah," I hear her say.

I'm too busy looking around the bar to listen to their conversation. There're tables and booths and even nests situated everywhere, from the floor to some of the rafters. It's a place that's been built with Pokémon in mind: easily accessible and comfortable.

And for a weekday, the place is pretty crowded. I see a group of Rattata who are bowed over their patch of floor, laughing at some inside joke; I see two Nidorina who are snuggling next to each other, brushing against each other's faces; I see Abra and Kadabra playing cards in a corner silently by themselves. There are Pidgey chirping about something in the overhead seating, and Spearow splitting a meal.

It's a beautifully warm and cozy place, but something... is really off. I turn to the bar, not sure what I'm expecting, only to see a Weepinbell mixing drinks with her vines. She serves them to a multitude of customers, the largest of which is a Machoke who leans against the table, chatting her up with a smirk on his face.

That's when it comes to me: there are no humans here at all. No humans sitting at tables, or behind the bar serving food and drinks. There are only Pokémon, gossiping with each other easily and loudly. I don't think I can remember the last place that had no humans anywhere, that wasn't wild: a place just for Pokémon to be Pokémon without worrying about being caught, or having to battle. It takes my breath away.

"Pretty cool, huh?" The Nidorino's comment jolts me out of my thoughts, and I turn to him with wide eyes. It only makes him laugh. "That's everyone's first reaction. You're a Battler, aren't ya?"

"I, uh—"

"We're one of a network of Pokémon-only hangouts. This one was the first, o'course, but we've got places in Vermillion, Saffron, Celadon... hell, when League Matches come around we set up shop in one of the tunnels. Family-run for the last... gosh, maybe five years."

How did I never know about this? I turn to Cassidy, who takes one look at my face and laughs. "That's what I thought too, when I came here. It's really nice, isn't it?"

I'm still so awestruck by the sight that I can't do anything but nod.

Our greeter butts us together with a good-natured smile and a twitch of his giant ears; I lean slightly away from the sudden contact, while Cassidy only laughs. "Well, take a seat anywhere. Karaoke's by volunteer basis, so whenever there's a spot feel free to hop in. And if you need anything, just holler for Chester and I'll come for ya," he says, finally slipping behind the bar to help out the Weepinbell.

"I found Chester when I was out exploring last night," Cassidy says, catching my eye. "He led me here, and well... one thing led to another, as they say—not like that," she chastises, right as my eyes start to widen. She does lean in to me to whisper, "the food isn't all that great, but that's not the main attraction anyway."

Just then, a heavy-set Growlithe approaches the stage, fiddling with one of the microphones. It takes him to get on top of one of the two stools that stand on the stage, right next to two mics, but finally he's perched on one of them, flashing a toothy grin. "Evenin'," a masculine voice introduces, and my ears prick up. "Just a reminder that any of you can come up here to sing; catalogs are available at the bar. Good idea to pack a few before coming up here."

That gets the room laughing, including me. This seems to please the Growlithe onstage, whose ears perk up. "There we go, good audience tonight. My name's Evan, and I'll be getting things started here, I guess." He turns to the bar and winks. "Let 'er rip, Deed."

Cassidy finally leads us to a low-seated table close to the stage; we have a perfect view of the Growlithe, who starts singing over a recorded track with a low, husky voice. "He's not too bad," I say, turning to Cassidy; but she's already at the bar, presumably getting one of the catalogs. That leaves me at the table alone, listening to Evan croon about... well, I can't understand exactly what he's singing about, but he's not hurting my ears, so I guess that's a plus.

After a few minutes Cassidy comes back, balancing two binders on top of her head. I grab one and nearly drop it—they're not thick, but they sure as hell are heavier than I had expected. "I'd get a headache carrying these," I say, picking it up and dropping it on the table—just as I expected, it lands with a loud THUMP.

"Not with your hard head," she retorts.

Evan ends up singing three more songs before someone comes to take his place—a trio of Spearow who just repeat a chorus over and over for two minutes. They finally end up being pushed off of the stage by the Nidorina duo, who choose a hard rock song. They're not too bad either; a little pitchy, maybe, but they at least seem like they're having fun.

By then I've flipped through half of the book, and there is absolutely nothing in here that I really recognize. "Are you recognizing any of this?" I ask, looking up from the book.

Cassidy shrugs. "A few songs, yeah. But there's nothing that I feel like singing, though."

"Hm." I flip through a few more pages; when I still see nothing, I flip the book shut. "Wish there was something more our style in here."

"Well, maybe there is, and we just don't know it," Cassidy says. "I still can't remember the name of that song from that Summer by the Lab a few years ago."

It had been a beautiful early May day, bright and warm. A week before the Trainer's Ceremony, a bunch of bands had come in and performed; the whole of Pallet Town had come to lounge in the stadium, wrapped in blankets under bright lights and a night sky. There hadn't been many groups, which was probably why it had been a one-time thing... but it had been a magical night of good music.

I chuckle. "That was the year you first came to Pallet, wasn't it?"

The Eevee nods, smiling. "It feels just like yesterday, doesn't it?"

I just shrug. "Lot has happened between then. Maybe last week."

We lapse into silence then, looking up at the stage. The two Nidorina have just finished singing, and we applaud along with the rest of the bar as they bow and take their seats. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Evan once again comes up, jumping back onto the stool as a new, faster-paced song starts pumping through the speakers.

"I still remember that group pulling you onstage to play with them." Cassidy's words are enough to bring my attention back to her; she's staring at me with a strange glint in her eye and a smile on her face.

I match it. "Who were they, again? The Happy Squirtles?"

"Amiable Wartortles," she corrects gently. "I think."

They had been a duo; one Squirtle and one Wartortle, each packing a guitar and a rope-like tambourine. Their stuff had been slow and soothing, perfect for a nighttime performance; most of the kids had been bored out of their damn minds, but I remembered being absolutely captivated by them. They hadn't mingled much after the concert was over—they had gone back to their private tent instead. A curious soul—me—might have crept on them to hear them playing more music, long past night and into the daybreak.

"Wonder if anyone here's heard of them?" I ask.

Suddenly Cassidy's face breaks out into a wide smile. "I have an idea." Without another warning she jumps away from the table—this time, though, she nudges me until I push myself out of my chair, and drags me to the bar. It's a bit more crowded now than it was when we had first come in; the Machoke is still there, now draining some sort of yellow drink from a flask, but there's a pair of Squirtle who are having some sort of drinking contest and a Bulbasaur who's collecting plates.

Cassidy jumps onto a booth, and I follow. Chester immediately comes toward us, leaning on the table. "You getting something to eat, or have you decided to sing something?"

"We want to sing something that's... off the catalog," Cassidy says.

Chester's ears prick up. "You plan on singing by yourselves?"

"Yes," Cassidy says. "Not just by ourselves, though. I was... I was wondering if you had any instruments we could borrow."

Instruments?! I look to Cassidy, but she's grinning at me with that sweet smile of hers. It always means that she gets her way, no matter what anyone has to say.

Chester's got a grin to match. "What're we looking for?"

Cassidy turns to me expectantly, and I finally sigh, looking toward the Nidorino. "Guitar and tambourine, if you have them."

Just like before, when he had first walked in, Chester looks me up and down again, eventually craning his head forward. "You know, I think I've got just the thing that'll fit you. Wait right there," he commands, before disappearing behind a pair of curtains.

I take my chance to turn to Cassidy. "Is this why you brought me here?" I ask seriously.

"I thought you'd might like a break from all of your training," she says. "Speaking of which, how'd that go?"

Well, like hell am I going to give her every single detail. Or anything more than she needs, really. "Okay. We found a new team mate. Kerri and Clara got a bit of training in."

"True's going to use them instead of you for Misty?"

"I thought you said she was an easy fight. Which, I've seen her in action, and she _isn't_ ," I say.

Cassidy's eyes narrow. "Gym leaders never go full strength unless they have to. You should know that."

"Fact still stands," I say stubbornly, folding my arms.

Cassidy shakes her head, sighing. "Look, I didn't want to go into anything like this tonight. Can we just ignore whatever happened today and just have fun? That's why I brought you here."

She looks sincere, with her big brown eyes looking up at me like I'm... I don't even know how to describe it, but it's got my stomach fluttering. So instead I turn away, trying to look like I'm totally at ease. "I thought it was just 'cause you missed me."

I can hear Cassidy open her mouth to say something, but that's when Chester arrives back through the curtains. Circled around his horn is a plastic tambourine, shaking with every move he makes. What has my eye, though, is the guitar that's held gently in his mouth—even from here I can see the shine on the yellow-brown wood, the gleam of the brass and the strings. Somehow he manages to put the instrument onto the table without disturbing anyone around us.

I pick it up gingerly, positioning it in my grip. It's a little heavier than I'm used to, but it's just the right length; and when I pluck the strings with my nails, I'm met with a beautiful humming sound that makes me shiver.

"Always keep that one tuned and polished. Never know when you're gonna need a good guitar," Chester says with a grin. "If you can kick Evan off the stage, floor's all yours."

Cassidy takes the tambourine from off of Chester's horn, looping it around her fluffy tail. "What was that one song they did, right before they pulled you up?"

Oh Mew, I can't remember. Something about running far and fast. But the words and the melody escapes me. While I'm thinking, my fingers pluck out a melody; it rocks right out from my fingers, a jolly-sounding tune that already has my toes tapping.

Cassidy immediately squeals, shaking her tail—the tambourine shakes right along with her, drawing several pairs of eyes toward us. "That's even better! Do you remember the words?"

"It's probably the only song of theirs that I do remember," I say honestly.

Her smile is so wide that I almost feel blinded; I laugh hesitantly. By now Evan has finishes whatever fast-paced song he's been singing, and polite applause rings through the bar. He opens his mouth to start another one, but no music comes on to serenade him.

Instead, it's Chester's voice that rings through the speakers; I turn to see he's pulled out a microphone of his own, and he winks at me. "Let's give another round for Evan, everybody," he says, and at his words the audience again starts applauding.

"We've got a really special treat for you tonight, ladies and gents. Two out-of-towners are gonna sing to us old-school style. So let's welcome them to the stage."

I duck my head as Cassidy and I make our way to the raised platform, holding on to the guitar as tightly as I can. Cassidy nudges my cheek, gently pressing her nose against the sensitive skin. I turn to face her, but she's already onstage, jumping onto the booth—somehow she manages not to lose the tambourine in her leap, holding her tail as high up as she can.

She adjusts, and I slide the guitar to my back before climbing up onto my own stool. While I pull the guitar onto my lap and do some last-minute tuning, Cassidy leans into the microphone. "Evening," she says, her ears slightly lowered. "Uh, my name's Cassidy, and this is Casey. We're going to sing something special for you tonight. It's a, heh, song we heard a few years ago, by a group called the Amiable Wartortles. Right, Case?"

I'm so focused on making sure everything's set that I don't realize the question's for me, at first. "Huh?"

That at least earns a few chuckles from the audience, which makes the skin around my cheeks flush red. Even Cassidy is smiling. "You remember the name of the song?"

"Uh, truthfully?" I ask, which is met with a few more laughs.

"I don't either," she says, which at least makes me laugh. "But we're going to sing it for you anyway, so uh... hope you like it."

And with that, I play.

Once upon a time my brother had taught me to play on a guitar something like this; simple chords like this, rocking back and forth rhythmically. I'd never been as good as he was—most of that was experience, of course, but he just had... he had this natural talent, and a charisma that drew you to him.

I think of him as I play those chords, until I start to sing and look at Cassidy.

She's got that same sort of charisma, I think, that Al had—that same charm that drew people in. It was a dangerous gift, but one that had served her well. All the kids in Pallet had gravitated to her, for that charm and her patient listening ear; but whenever they were sad, or needed some entertainment, she had something nobody else had.

There are some people who just _have_ those voices that blend so well with anything and everyone—and then, when they stand on their own, take your breath away. I sing a few lines, shying away slightly, until she joins me; she makes my voice sound better, and my playing gives her something to sing to.

She takes the next verse like it's a present, and she unwraps it gently, softly. That's what kept those kids so enthralled. I'm like that now as she croons in that bell-like voice, and it takes all my effort to just keep on playing and not just stop and watch her sing. She sways her tail in time with my beat, the tambourine jingling behind her; I pluck and change.

We sing, and we sing, crooning to each other and locking eyes. There's no light, no bar, no Chester; for a moment I forget we're even in Cerulean, on separate battling teams, on journeys we might not otherwise have made.

There finally comes a time when I strum that final chord, where we're staring at each other in silence—but when the audience starts clapping and whistling, that eye contact is broken. We're both smiling as we bow our heads, and we keep smiling as we jump off of our stools and head back to the bar.

Chester's waiting for us there with a huge smile on his face, once again leaning against the counter. "Didn't know you two had it in ya. Damn."

"I didn't think I did either," I say truthfully.

Cassidy scoffs. "He's being modest."

"Well, modest or not," Chester says, "that deserves a special treat. So what'll it be?"

Cassidy and I turn to each other for a moment, as if we could read each other's minds and come to a consensus. But when that doesn't work, we just shake our heads. "I don't think we really..."

"Our Cinnabar Volcano burgers are top-notch," Chester suggests with a grin. I meet Cassidy's eye and we both chuckle. Chester's oblivious, and adds on a sly "That and a few drinks?"

"What do you say," Cassidy suggests, the tip of her tail twitching. "Think we can stay here a bit longer?"

I turn to her, and a full moment passes of us locking eyes before I grin. "That sounds pretty good to me."

Chester pours an amber liquid into two bowls; I grab one in my free hand and pass the other to Cassidy, who grabs it with her mouth. "You can head back to your table then, and I'll bring those right out—and keep a hold of those instruments, just in case," he winks, before slipping back behind the dark curtains.

Cassidy and I make our way back to our table, and along the way we're given high-fives and smiles. I match them hesitantly; Cassidy's much better at it than I am, and even exchanges a few quick "Thank you so much"es and "I'm so glad you liked it"s around her drink. They generally give us space once we get back to the table; both of us take our instruments and place them at the end, where they can rest in peace while we do... well, I don't know quite what, yet.

"You're having a good time?" Cassidy asks, settling back into her seat.

"Ah, yeah. Actually, I did."

"Do I get a 'thank you' out of that?" she laughs, leaning on the table.

"Night's not over yet," I say, leaning into my paw. "Lots of things could still go wrong."

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head. "You're not having fun?"

"That's not what I said."

Cassidy opens her mouth to say something, but I guess she decides against it, because she just turns her head to the stage. No one has come up to take our place, but I can hear soft instrumental music playing overhead. I listen to it for a few minutes, avoiding Cassidy's gaze. I take a sip of the drink and nearly spit it back out—it's bitter as hell with some sort of tang that doesn't sit well at all.

"You know, you can talk to me about it," she finally says.

I sigh. "I don't want to talk about anything."

"You never do, Casey," Cassidy says. "I've known you for years and I hardly know _anything_ about you."

"It's none of your business," I grit out, turning to her. She's glaring at me now, and while it does startle me, I don't bow down. "I don't ask you about _your_  life."

She glares me down before shaking her head. "Sometimes I wonder why you even decided to go on your journey."

"True needed it," I say automatically.

"You going to keep traveling with her?" she asks.

I don't know what to say to that. I don't _know_.

Luckily at that moment, a Bulbasaur comes up to us with two plates of burgers held above her head with her vines. She's a pretty thing, even if her bulb is slightly wilted; her red eyes are bright and there's a smile on her face. "You two did a great job, you know," she says, setting the plates down in front of us.

"Thank you," Cassidy says. I only reply with a grunt and start picking at the bun.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," I hear our waitress say. "You're from out of town?"

"We're Battlers," says Cassidy.

"Ooh, I used to be a Battler, you know. A very very long time ago, of course," she adds, sitting down.

"What made you stop?" I ask.

The Bulbasaur doesn't say anything for a moment, looking away. "Oh, you know. Life." She turns back to us with a grin, though, and I narrow my eyes. "Doesn't matter. I'm here now, and that's what counts."

"Minka!" I hear Chester call out. "Stop chit-chattin', we need you over here!"

Minka turns toward the bar and laughs. "Coming," she calls back. "Guess I've got to get back to work. If you need anything, just give me a holler."

"We will. Thanks," I say. With a smile, the Bulbasaur slowly makes her way back to the counter.

By the time I look down to the burger, almost the entire top bun has been picked to shreds. Cassidy is chewing her own burger with a strange look on her face. "That bad?" I ask.

"No, it's just... I can't tell what's in it?"

"Well, whatever's in this," I say, lifting the drink slightly, "isn't too great either."

"At least we didn't have to pay for it?" she says, and I laugh.

Time slips away from us; we probably could have split one burger, for how much we ate of it. The drinks fare a bit better, if only because it's something to drink that isn't water. By the time we're ready to leave, most of the patrons have already left; my head feels sort of fuzzy, and Cassidy's giggling more than usual. It takes Minka tapping us on the shoulder for me to realize just how late it is, and how woozy I feel.

"You two need rooms in the back?" she asks.

"N-No, we, hehe," Cassidy giggles, "we need to get back to our trainers."

"They're at the Center?" Minka asks.

"Y-Yes," I slur.

Minka rolls her eyes before turning to Chester, who's wiping down tables on the other side. "I'm taking the Battlers back, Chester. See you tomorrow?"

"Just don't be late for shift next time!" he says. "And make sure those kids go _straight_ to their trainers."

Trainers? Hah. "Actually, I think—"

"No, we—haha—we need to get back." Cassidy presses against me; on reflex I grab the long fur around her neck. "Gary's going to be missing me, and I'm sure True'll be, too."

She might be the only one, but hell.

It takes Cassidy pressed firm against me and Minka wrapping a vine around my shoulders to get me walking in a straight line. As good as Cassidy was in getting us here from the Center, she probably wouldn't have any way of knowing how to get back. Minka walks deliberately and slowly down the path, giving me time to let the crisp cold air clear my head a little bit.

"That was... really good. Thanks," I say, leaning my head against Cassidy's shoulder.

I don't see her smile through her thick neck fur, but somehow I feel it. "No problem, Case."

I'm still a little woozy by the time we pass through the Center gates. Minka withdraws her vine and Cassidy steps away from me—but the second they do, I fall flat on my face.

"Shit," Cassidy says.

"'M fine, 'm fine," I mutter, pushing myself up.

But when I do, I'm met with a pair of angry brown eyes on a growling blue face.

"You won't be when I'm through with you."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

My head hurts.

That's the first thing I think when I get smacked back to the waking world. My eyes fly open and I yelp, curling away from the blow. "Gerrway," I moan, clutching my head in my paws.

"Oh no. You're getting up, mister."

It takes me a few moments to get my bearings. I'm back in True's room, in a Pokémon bed that's been pushed against the wall. I'm staring straight at the white ceiling, which is already bright with sunlight from open curtains. I have to squint to see anything else that's an actual shape. That takes too much work, so I flop over onto my side to face the wall.

I know who it's going to be when I turn around: Kerri'll be staring at me with her angry eyes and her threats and her "how the hell could you be so stupid"s; and maybe Peter will be blinking up at me with those big damned eyes of his, or even Clara with her creepy not-speaking. Maybe even Jackson. I do feel an itch at my ear—maybe it's the little Charmander, getting too curious for his own good.

I don't care. I feel like a huge pile of Tauros shit, and if I don't have to move, there is no way I'm going to.

"Come on, you fat-ass, we're not waiting all day," Kerri growls.

"Can't make me," I growl right back, still facing away from her.

She's talking with someone, I know that much—but the sudden ringing in my ears means that I can't hear anything she's saying. I don't know what's more annoying: Kerri for beating me out of a sleep I really need, or Kerri hovering and probably talking about me.

Finally I decide to at least sit up and look before throwing the towel back in. "If you're gonna talk about me, say it loudly or—"

But I cut off. Kerri's glaring at me, just as I thought she would be, but she's the only other Pokémon. (Besides me, of course.) Instead, True's leaning on the doorframe, staring at me and grabbing her forearms the way she does when she's concerned. I groan, flopping onto my other side. This way, I can at least look at them, I guess.

"How'd I get here?" I ask softly, flicking one of my ears. Maybe that'll stop the ringing.

"Little Miss Priss and some Bulbasaur brought you back here. You were totally... well, I don't know what the hell you were," Kerri scoffs. "But you were bad."

"Where were you?" True asks softly.

I could only remember bits and pieces of last night: singing on the stage, laughing with Cassidy, losing my balance a few times. That fucking drink that was actually really fucking good. Cassidy grinning.

"Out," I say. I haven't been awake more than two minutes and already I'm ready to go back to sleep.

But I don't get the chance. Kerri comes up to me and shoves me into the wall with a well-placed push, pinning me down. "You don't _ever_ get to do that again. You hear me?"

"I'm gonna do whatever I want," I growl.

"Whatever you want, huh? You think you're such a big tough guy, you can do anything at all?"

I can see True's eyes widen slightly, and Kerri turn to her and say something. I can't hear. That damned ringing in my ears is back, and it's really pissing me off. "Let me go, Kerri," I hiss, struggling to break free from her grasp.

"You wanna prove to me you're a big tough Pokémon?" she taunts. She lets me go and I hiss, turning toward her.

I push myself off of the bed and the ground, brushing my thighs off. Electricity tickles my cheeks, and I growl. "I want you to let me sleep."

"Aaw, is the wittle Pikachu sleepy?" she coos. "Wittle baby Casey need a blankie?"

I don't know what it is about Kerri, but she knows exactly what buttons to push and when to push them. I grit my teeth and walk up right toward her, clenching my fists. "Cut it out," I growl.

"If Casey's all grow'd up, he'll settle this like a big Pikachu and fight me." She's grinning now, her eyes narrowed in a triumphant smirk.

I know what she's thinking: I'll back down from her challenge, I'll throw a fit, and then she'll have an excuse to rip me a new one. And normally I would. If I was normal, I'd just shove her away and tell True to go get a grass-type to train for the gym, because we have two days until our challenge.

But I'm not normal right now. So I growl, sparks nipping at my cheeks, and push against her face.

"Fine. But not here."

Kerri pulls back, that damn smirk still on her face, and steps out of my way. "Then lead the way, Tough Guy," she says.

I look toward True, wondering if she knows anything—but she turns her head away from me, hiding her face away behind her cloud of red-brown hair. I'm taken aback for a moment, but I grunt, heading out of the room and down the stairs. I don't turn around to see if the two of them are following: I know they are, judging by their heavy footsteps.

The Center lobby is crowded with trainers and Pokémon, hoping to get some rest and relaxation. I don't make eye-contact with anyone, instead heading right out of the sliding glass doors. It takes me a moment to get used to the morning sunlight, which bounces right into my eyes; but eventually I get adjusted to it.

"Alright, Kerri, where—"

Something slams right into my back that sends me flying. I crash into a passerby man, who shrieks loudly and runs off. I push myself off of the ground, wide-eyed and panting, to see Kerri approaching me in her signature battle stance.

"That all you got?" she taunts, pawing at the ground hard enough to leave score marks with her claws.

I growl, releasing a Thundershock toward her. She takes the hit without even trying to dodge, and just stands there as I pump electricity toward her.

She's not doing anything.

I cut the power with a snarl and lower myself onto the ground. I watch, stunned, as Kerri shakes herself off like it's nothing. She meets my eyes for one long moment and then smirks. "That can't be it?" she asks, lowering her head. "You make all that fuss for a little Thundershock?"

I'm seeing red. I can't see anything: not the clearing that has been made from curious passerby, or the faces of trainers pushed up against the Pokémon Center windows, or True's incredulous face. I do what comes naturally: I race toward her, becoming a white-and-yellow blur, and try slamming against her with all my might.

She steps back this time, grunting under the pressure of my blow, but throws her head up to send me airborne. "My little brothers could hit better than you, and they're still Nidoran!" she calls out, stepping out from under me.

I growl, trying to find purchase on something to readjust my course. But I just fall down onto the ground, landing hard on my feet.

"Have you been cooped up in that lab for too long, wittle man? Have you forgotten what it's like to be a proper Pokémon?"

I scream, releasing yet another bout of electricity. These bolts wrap around her, though, and I smirk as Kerri groans. When the electricity fades she tries to take a step, but comes crashing down hard onto her knees. "That more like a proper Pokémon?" I call out, raising my tail high into the air.

"Better," she admits. But she pushes herself off the ground all the same, tossing her head like she's a Rhyhorn. "Now it's my turn."

And just like a Rhyhorn, she rushes toward me. I can just get out of range for the first kick she sends my way, but she catches me hard in the stomach, and again sends me flying. I feel a pair of hands catch me, but I struggle until I'm dropped back on the ground.

"One more attack and you're gonna be a Pikachu pancake!" she calls out. She's panting and her legs are shaking, but I can tell she's not going to be backing down anytime soon. "You gonna try avoiding my attacks sometime soon, or are you gonna... wear yourself out?"

I'm panting hard too, now; my head is just hairs away from touching the ground, and my own arms are shaking. "You're... not doing much better," I pant.

"I'm gonna be just fine," she calls out, and somehow I don't doubt it.

So even though I'm shaking and tired and still feeling like absolute shit, I rush toward her again, yelling at the top of my lungs. Electricity pours out of me in a flash of white; I hear other yells and excited screams as I collide into her, and our screams join the chorus of yelling around us.

When the attack finally fades, both of us slump onto the ground with a THUMP, breathing hard. Everything's silent, save for our breathing, before everyone's cheering at the top of their lungs. Words blend into each other until I can't make out anything that anyone's saying—but they don't sound upset. They sound _excited_.

"Idiot," Kerri murmurs. "They're cheering for _you_."

I'm taken aback, and lift my head up. I may not be able to hear what they're saying, but I can see them; every pair of onlooking eyes is bright and wide, and there are huge smiles on everyone's faces. Fingers are pointed toward us—toward _me_. My heart is pounding and my legs are trembling, and I don't think I can feel my feet.

But I feel good. I feel _so good_ , and it's not something I'm used to feeling. I'm scared, but I'm excited, and that's a blend I don't know how to handle.

True rushes toward the both of us with Potions and a Paralyze Heal in hand, spraying and spraying until both Kerri and I can stand up on our own. I feel rejuvenated—I hadn't really quite realized how awesome modern medicine was, and how much energy I have again. Even my headache has gone away, somewhat.

"You still feel like you're not strong enough for that gym?" Kerri says. True's bent down over her, spraying Paralyze Heal on Kerri's legs and scratching the back of her large ears.

I'm still unsure. Something must flash across my face, because Kerri narrows her eyes. "Look, whatever you're thinking, just... just stop. Once I get through training you, you're going to be able to roast that gym. Literally."

"We'll all help," True promises. She extends an arm and I lean into the embrace, nuzzling my face into the crook of her arm. She presses her cheek against the top of my head, and I lean into that touch. "I had total faith in you."

I don't know why this feels good. That same burning I had felt that first day, when True had asked me to be her Starter, is back: it burns hot in my belly and takes my breath away. Kerri's ear brushes against my tail, and I squeak. That makes True laugh, which makes Kerri laugh—and the unexpected sound of the Nidorina laughing genuinely makes me laugh, too. Soon we're a big ball of laughter and nerves and "what the hell did we just do," and for that moment I forget my fears and just relax.

* * *

 

We head out to Route Twenty Four, and every Pokémon trains. True supervises, ready with any needed Potions; Clara and Peter each take turns sparring with each other and Jackson, who has already gotten a good handle on his Ember attack. Kerri and I beat each other up a few times. With each round I can feel myself growing stronger; it's a weird feeling, to continuously be releasing energy. I've held it up tight for so long that I had forgotten how it feels to be empty. We eventually do reach the point where I can't use Thundershock anymore—Kerri, completely unflappable, instead teaches me how to move around.

One would think that Peter would be better for that sort of training, but he's having too much fun battling with Jackson and Clara to make much mind of us.

By mid-afternoon the six of us are wiped. We rest under one of the large trees that sit next to the river, enjoying the shade and the light breeze that tickles our faces. Jackson curls up right next to Kerri, hiding the tip of his burning tail underneath his body. True has Clara and Peter resting on her lap as they take a slight snooze.

But even though I'm exhausted and should, by all accounts, be crashing into sleep, I'm wide awake. I turn to Kerri, whose eyes are half-lidded; but she catches my eye and sighs. "You're not tired?"

"I am," I say. She waits for a few moments and lifts her eyebrows as if to say _yes, come on, what is it_ , and I sigh. "I didn't think this could feel so..."

"So good?" she says, chuckling.

"Well... yeah," I admit.

Kerri's silent for a few minutes. She looks across the water, where Cerulean gleams in the distance; I look out too, trying not to be blinded by the sunlight hitting the water. It's really very beautiful; I had thought that when we had come out of Mount Moon, but the splendor hasn't lessened because we haven't been trapped in a cave and assaulted by criminals.

"Have you never fought before?" Kerri asks, turning toward me.

I can't meet her eye; I have to look down at my feet to answer her question. "A little bit. A long, long time ago."

"What made you stop?" she asks quietly.

Both of us turn to the others, who are fast asleep. I know True's a heavy sleeper; once she's out, nothing short of a natural disaster can rouse her.

That doesn't mean I lift my voice up any higher than a murmur. "My brother."

I can't say anything more than that. I lean my head back on the trunk, closing my eyes with a heavy sigh. "Whatever he did to you—"

"He didn't do anything," I say sharply. "He just... I can't talk about it, okay? But it wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything wrong."

Kerri's silent again for a very, very long time. I almost think that she's fallen asleep, and hesitantly open an eye. But she's staring right at me with _that look_  on her face. "Well, whatever happened. I think it's cool you're trying again."

I chuckle. Oh yeah, it's really cool. It'll all be fun and games until someone gets killed.

"Being with a trainer is safer than being out in the wild," Kerri says, and part of me wonders if she's able to read my mind. "And you get to go places, and see things. For a low-level Pokémon... well, it's the best chance you get to live a fulfilling life."

"What's the definition of a fulfilling life?" I scoff.

"Depends, I guess," she shrugs. "For me, it's going anywhere and everywhere I can, and beating opponents who're stronger than me. I grew up in a Route that acts as the gateway to the _Pokémon League_. And every time the season would come, I'd go up and watch all these powerful Pokémon head with their trainer to Victory Road. To the League. I want to be like them someday. I want to be the very best," she says reverently, and closes her eyes. "To make my family proud. To make _me_ proud."

I regard her hesitantly, because I don't know what to say in the face of that much passion. "That's why you were on that rock?"

Kerri nods. "I had a good feeling about that day. My mom was all, 'you get caught by a trainer and that'll be all and you won't come back.' But it wasn't like she was worried about me. I'm tough. And besides, every Pokémon's gotta get out of the next at some point, right?" She laughs at that, or maybe some memory, before resting her head back down on the ground. "Even you."

"I still don't know," I say.

"Okay, enough with the self-doubt thing." Kerri's eyes fly right to me and lock onto mine. "I'm trying to have a touchy-feely heart-to-heart moment with you and you're totally wrecking it."

"That's what I do," I say, and Kerri scoffs but laughs anyway.

We don't talk after that; maybe Kerri's finally gotten tired of trying to bring me around. But judging by her closed eyes and soft breathing, it's more likely that she's decided that sleep is a much better use of her time. I close my eyes, enjoying the almost-silence. Wind brushes my face and tickles my nose; it's relaxing, and I'm able to breathe easier. Maybe that's why I'm finally able to fall asleep with the rest of my team.

There are no dreams for Peter to wake me up from; True has meandered to the edge of the river, overseeing Kerri and Jackson sparring. She's going much easier on him than she was me, but I don't take offense to it. He swipes at her with his tiny claws and spits out small bits of flame; she dodges most of these blows, throwing out encouraging words and playful taunts that are meant to encourage, not to rile.

"Clara's off get-getting something to eat," Peter says, resting beside me on the tree. "True's m-making sure Kerri doesn't do a-anything to h-hurt Jackson."

I have to laugh at that, really; out of all of us, it seems like Kerri's the one with her head screwed on all the way. She swipes at Jackson's face so hard that he twirls around, but when she barks out "You can come back from that!" the small Charmander whips his flaming tail in her face. It strikes against her chin, and she pulls back, laughing. "That's how it's done!"

"She won't," I say confidently.

"Y-You were go-good with her, too," Peter says.

I turn to face the small purple Pokémon, whose eyes are alight and bright and clear, and have to laugh. "Guess I'm not as pathetic as I thought."

Peter shakes his head. "Y-You're not pa-pathetic. You're super strong."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"N-No, really! I'm ex-excited to see your battle with Misty. You'll b-be great."

I'm still uneasy about the whole situation, but at least now I can laugh instead of feel like I'm about to throw up. Well, there's a little bit of that feeling there too, but it's nowhere as strong as it was—

"Casey, y-you've got a weird lo-look on your face."

"Huh?" I press a paw against my cheek, and sure enough, it's warm. I scowl, which only makes Peter laugh. "Whatever. I just have to keep going at it, I guess."

"Do y-you want to train with me?" Peter asks.

Here's when I know I'm getting more comfortable with this whole "battling thing": I only hesitate a little bit before nodding my head. We walk off just a tiny distance, close enough so that we can still see True over by Jackson and Kerri, but with enough space to do a bit of sparring.

"I-I know you learned Qu-Quick Attack earlier. Did you w-want... I could he-help?" Peter asks, feeling the ground with his sharp little paws.

"I uh, I dunno." It's probably Peter's best attack, combining his speed with his power, but physical attacking just isn't my thing. Frying things from a distance is one thing; attacking other Pokémon head-on is a completely different one. "It's just an attack, I have other ones."

But to my surprise, Peter shakes his head. "Wh-When I was still living... you know. I ma-made up th-this trick. With Qu-Quick Attack. To get away f-from all th-the Pidgey, you s-see."

I must look utterly confused, because the skinny Rattata just laughs. "I-I know it sounds weird, but... you j-just have to watch."

So I watch. Peter backs up a little bit, his curled tail stick-straight behind him. Without any warning at all he starts running, turning into a light purple blur as he jumps up right into the air. He makes some pretty good ground, too, arching a few feet above the ground.

But suddenly he turns, perpendicular to the ground. I can see him tense his body, even from here, as he strikes out at the air—and somehow, he starts streaking up again, flying up like a Pidgey.

He lands on all four paws, slightly stunned, but turns to face me with a big stupid grin on his face. "Di-Did you see?"

The only thing I can say is "What."

This only makes Peter laugh more, and he comes up to me. "Y-You just gotta keep your legs tense. It takes a b-bit of practice, but it's g-good to get away from people."

"You had to do that a lot?" I ask.

He nods sadly. "I l-lost a lot of friends. I always go-got away be-because I was the fastest."

I can only nod in reply, thinking about what Kerri had said earlier. Finally I rub the back of my neck and chuckle. "Well, you should probably show me how to do this thing."

It takes a lot of face-planting and even more bruises all over my body, but I finally get a good enough handle on Peter's technique to make him squeak happily. "It'll c-come," Peter says encouragingly.

By the time we all call it quits and return to the Pokémon Center, the sun is hanging low in the sky. I look around the lobby for Cassidy, but she's nowhere to be seen. True checks all of us Pokémon in to Nurse Joy for a quick healing. The process is so quick that I don't have a chance to ask any of the nurses if Gary has taken his team out of Cerulean.

Nurse Joy gives us back to True, who rubs all of our heads and picks up Jackson in her arms. "Everyone's in perfect battling health, so nothing to worry about there. Your guest has gone up to your room—"

"Wait," True says. "Guest?"

"Someone said she was waiting for one of your Pokémon," Joy says, looking down at me.

That's got to mean Cassidy. Immediately I jump off of the counter, racing toward the door. The rest of my team isn't far behind. I can almost feel Kerri's disapproving look on my back, but I'm too excited to give a damn.

True fumbles for the key in her billfold; I rock back and forth, growing more and more impatient with every passing second. Finally True finds the card key and slips it into the lock. She pushes the door open into the dark room, and I step forward.

"Everything okay?" I call out.

But when True flips the lights on, it isn't Cassidy who's standing in the middle of the room with an amused look on her face.

"Oh, I'm just fine, sweetheart," Minka says. "But you'd best sit down, we need to have a talk."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

"You again!" Kerri growls.

"Be nice," True says, brushing her fingers against Kerri's ear. She closes the door with her foot—the click of the lock is the loudest sound in the room, with all of us staring silently at each other. "You were... who, again?"

What the hell? "Do you even _know_ each other?" I ask, turning from an amused Minka to an angry Kerri and concerned True.

Kerri catches my eye and scowls. "She brought you here passed out and absolutely insane."

"There's a difference between insane and drunk, dear," Minka interjects. She turns to True with a smile that's way too relaxed for the situation. "And I'm Minka."

Jackson struggles out of True's arms, landing solidly onto the ground. Despite Kerri's exclamation, the small Charmander approaches the older Bulbasaur with wide eyes. "You're green?"

Minka just chuckles, extending a vine to pat the top of Jackson's head. "I am indeed."

Jackson tilts his head and stares for a good long moment before nodding seriously. "You're sick."

That makes Minka chuckle and shake her head. "No, sweetheart. I'm just a Bulbasaur."

That seems to confuse the Charmander a bit, but he leaves the question be with a simple shrug.

I come up to Minka, folding my arms. "What're you doing here, Minka?"

"Oh, well—please don't touch that, dear, my bulb's very sensitive—" she says, drawing my eye to Jackson. He's prodding her bulb with a sharp claw, but when he catches my glare, he backs down. "I came to see how you were doing. You left Ch—the place, very—"

"Delusional?" Kerri growls.

"Not at your best," Minka corrects, turning a patient eye to the bristling Nidorina. "I wanted to see how you were, just in case you needed anything."

"'M fine," I mutter. "D'you check in with all of your..." I didn't know how big of a secret Chester's was. I mean, there was a sign in front of the door, so humans must have passed by it several times, but did they know what was going on? "The, uh... others?"

Minka must know what I'm trying to get at, though, because she winks. "Just the new ones. I went to find your other friend, too, but it seems she's left with her team already."

I'd had the feeling, of course; it wasn't a big surprise. She was with her trainer, who had already gotten his badge. There was no reason to stay. But I wish we had been able to get together again, just 'cause. I sigh, rubbing a paw against the back of my neck.

"This is all really great and everything," Kerri says. "But we're prepping for a battle, so we need to get some sleep. So if you can just go f—"

" _Kerri,_  enough." True turns to Minka with a sad smile on her face. "It's not the best way of saying it, but... I'm sorry, Kerri's right. And I'm sure your own trainer...?"

But she trails off when Minka's face falls. Even Jackson, who's still sniffing around an incredibly patient Minka, looks up with a confused look on his face. "Sad?"

"Oh, no," Minka says, turning to Jackson with a smile on her face. "No, not sad, little one. But your trainer's right, I should really get going. Lots of things to do, you know."

And without another word, Minka heads for the still-open door, extending a vine to close it behind her.

We're all left speechless for a little bit, before Peter finally breaks the silence. "So-So that was... in-interesting?"

"More than interesting," Kerri scoffs. "Weird that Nurse Joy would just let her in like that, though."

"Magic!" Jackson interjects.

It makes True laugh, at least, which cuts some of the tension. "Maybe a little."

"'Course it is," Jackson says sagely. Kerri taps the top of his head with an ear, making him giggle.

"Well, I guess it's time to go to bed," True says, peeling off her over-shirt. "Unless anyone wanted to watch a movie...?"

Clara answers for all of us by perching on top of the window sill, tucking her head beside her wing, and immediately falling asleep.

"I'm with birdbrain," Kerri mutters, and falls in a lump on the biggest bed on the wall. Jackson follows her with a playful shriek, and jumps onto her back. He moves too quickly for me to protest, but Kerri seems to be taking care of it—she arches her head back to see Jackson curled up right between her spines, his tail tucked beneath his head.

"You'd think th-the fire would h-hurt," Peter says.

"Can't even feel it," Kerri says.

True's already out of her clothes, rustling for her sleep-shirt and toothbrush. Peter and I both jump on top of the bed, being careful not to puncture the water-filled mattress with our claws. The both of us are curled up on the opposite side of the bed and falling asleep by the time True, with clean teeth and a damp face, slips into bed.

Peter falls asleep almost immediately, his tail patting the side of his face. All around the room I can hear the starts of slow, deep breathing; but even though every muscle in my body aches, I can't fall asleep. Instead, I turn to True, who's bending over to turn the bedside lamp on.

"Look, are we... I'm sorry about earlier."

Instead of flicking the light off, True turns back to me with wary eyes. "Are you?"

"I... not for taking a night off, no." I look around the room to see if everyone's asleep; if they aren't, they're great actors. "But for leaving the way I did."

True just stares at me with her green eyes; I stare back for a few tense moments. Finally she turns away, closing her eyes. "I just keep thinking you're like... everyone else. And it's not fair to you, but it's just..."

It's not fair _period_. But it's what we had agreed on.

"You're used to doing whatever you want without asking anyone beforehand. I get it." By now her voice has come down to a whisper, and I have to focus in order to hear her. "I'll try to be better."

Before I can say anything, she turns away to flick the lamp off, leaving me both blind and mute. I stare into the darkness until I can make out her body, and sigh. She has to be better to remember who I am, and who we used to be—but I can be better, to remember who she is _now_.

I go to sleep curled up against her back. When I start awake, I feel arms wrapped around me. My heart starts thumping in my chest before I look up, brushing my cheek against a familiar face. I didn't know when True had grabbed on to me, and with the tight grip she had on me, there was no way of seeing what time it was now. The only clue I have to the time is the pale city lights filtering through the thin curtains.

I manage to fall back asleep, though; her arms are comfy enough for that.

* * *

I began to look forward to afternoon breaks in a way I never had before. The six of us had pretty much made the tree overlooking the river our "hangout spot," which was just fine with me. I had claimed a spot on True's lap, munching on a few apple slices she had cut up; the others were sprawled alongside us, taking a break from the relentless summer sun.

"Are we sure that Misty's going to use those star-things she had with her the other day?" Kerri asks, scoring the ground with her claws.

"I heard somewhere they were her signature Pokémon," True replies, biting into a whole apple. "Depends, I guess."

Peter looks up from True's shoe, cheeks full with his cheesy snack. "W-Will she be li-like Brock?"

"Doubt it," Kerri says. "Rock and water are totally different."

I turn my eye to Jackson, who's plucking blades of grass from the ground and burning them. "Your Ember's really improving," I say warily. Power means nothing if there's no way for him to control it.

It brings Jackson's eyes to me, at least, and he smiles big enough to show off all of his pointy teeth. "Kerri's a good teacher!"

"Well, duh," Kerri interjects, which makes all of us laugh.

I have to turn my head to Clara, though, who's still keeping somewhat of a distance from the main group. She's been on the team for days now, but I still haven't heard her say anything. It makes me wonder what the hell is going on in her head.

"I've gotten lessons from everyone except you and Jackson," I call out. "Got anything you want to teach me?"

The Spearow lifts her head and stares at me with beady black eyes. I'm about to say "never mind" before she flutters off the ground, hopping toward me.

"Uh... we don't have to, I guess," I say.

But Clara shakes her head, and kicks the ground.

No—she's not kicking at the ground. Her talons are deep enough to score the ground, just like Kerri's claws; but whereas Kerri's marks are more a show of power, or a way to vent, Clara's putting her marks down in very deliberate patterns.

They're only circles and lines. One of the circles is resting on top of a line; a curved line comes to meet the other circle, which is significantly higher. She points to the upper circle and then gestures to herself—and then she motions to the lower circle, and points to me.

"You want me to jump to you," I murmur. "Right?"

I think the rest of them are watching us, but I'm not paying attention. I'm looking at Clara, who is nodding fiercely. I have to laugh; why hadn't I thought of this earlier? We had used pictures to communicate with kids who were having trouble speaking, and it had worked well enough until they had gotten comfortable enough to speak aloud. I don't know where Clara had learned this from, or if she had developed it herself—or, hell, why she hadn't tried to do this for me before—but it's something I'm going to take.

Clara springs from the ground and flies up, screeching victoriously—and it's the only way I can describe the call, which rings out into the sky. She dives suddenly, and I jump up to slam against her—but before I can, she arcs away, leaving me falling down to the ground.

I push up, though, and suddenly I'm flying through the air, too. I hear Peter cry out and Jackson laugh with delight, but all I'm concentrated on is Clara.

Of course, I end up on the ground long before I can get to her. But it's progress; with every jump and every almost-hit I can feel myself slowly getting stronger. It doesn't make any sense, because with each jump and each almost-hit I feel myself getting weaker, too. It makes no fucking sense, and I don't know how to feel about it.

We keep at it for a while. I arch up and come close to grabbing at her foot, but the Spearow pulls up just out of my reach. That doesn't stop me—I push up and shoot straight for her, slamming hard onto her belly. The both of us cry out as we start falling to the ground, but Clara immediately grabs onto the scruff of my neck with her claws, softening our blow. We land in a tangled mess, me on my belly and her on my back. And even though I'm exhausted, and my heart is thundering in my ears, I'm feeling strangely happy.

"You're pretty good," I pant, turning up at her.

She just smirks in response.

"I wanna battle, too!" Jackson cries out, as he starts running toward us.

I only have enough time to look up before he starts spitting Embers. Grass smolders on impact, just threatening to ignite—he's gotten a lot stronger since we first met him. That's normally a good thing—but most of the time, strength comes from control. Jackson has none of that.

Clara shrieks and flies up and away, but I take a second longer to get into action—that's enough for his attack to hit just right, blasting against my body. It's hot and it burns and it _hurts_ , and on instinct I release a Thunder Wave. Pale bolts of electricity wrap around Jackson, whose eyes have gotten so wide they threaten to take over his face.

With a startled scream, he falls onto the ground, paralyzed. Trembling and burned, I fall just after.

Peter gets to me first, sniffing at the red patches on my leg; True is only seconds behind, spraying something—and I can't tell what it is, because it fucking _stings_ and burns worse than the actual burn, and I whimper and curl into myself.

"Don't think about it, think of something else," True says panicked.

So I turn my attention to the other conversation behind us.

"That was fucking _stupid_ , do you understand that?"

"I-I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean it, no, but you _hurt_ Casey because you wanted to show off."

"E-Everybody else was doing it!"

"Everybody else knew what they were doing—they weren't throwing attacks everywhere!" She groans and thrashes her head; her tantrum ends in seconds, though, and within a few brief moments her only sign of agitation is a drawn-out sigh. "Now shut up and go say you're sorry."

"I can't...mooove."

"You're moving if it means I have to push you in front of that damned Pikachu myself, you got that?"

True's hand on my burn jerked my attention back to my injury, and I hiss. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I need to massage it in, so tell me if—well, I guess if you're in pain... this is really stupid."

"Keep going," I grit out. The sooner I can get my burn healed, the sooner we can... do what? Keep fighting? I don't know why that seems like the better option; then again, anything sounds better than being curled up in pain. So I grit my teeth and bear the pain.

By the time Jackson has struggled his way toward me, I'm in far less pain; I turn to the injury to see a cleaner, healthier wound. Hell, if I hadn't known I'd been scorched moments before, I probably wouldn't have thought it was a burn. It's fucking creepy. "I will never get used to that."

"I hope you won't have to," True says softly.

Jackson's sudden weight makes me jump, but I feel his chubby arms wrap around me and his tears on my face, and I sigh.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whimpers, burying his face into the crook of my neck. "I'm sorry."

I sigh. With me on my side and him crushing me, I'm not in the best place to give him a comforting pat; instead I nod and murmur a soft, "I know. Just don't do it again."

"D-Do we have to ke-keep training?" Peter asks.

I look toward True, who is staring back toward Cerulean with stony eyes. It's only mid-afternoon, so I don't know what we would do if we called it a day. Watch movies? Look around town and end up getting lost?

I let her pick me up, settling myself into the cradle of her arms. "I bet the gym's open," I say.

"We can't battle her until tomorrow," Kerri says. "Did that burn take more out of you than we thought?"

"I'm sorry!" Jackson whines again.

"No, Jackson, we're okay," True says. "But Casey's on to something. Remember how Brock let those other trainers watch our match in Pewter Gym?"

"Is every gym going to be like Br-Brock's?" Peter asks.

I smirk. "We're about to find out."

* * *

 

"Sure, kid, matches are open. Only if you pay a thousand, though."

I'm about to protest, but True opens up her billfold and hands the guard the money. "It's better than going in blind," she says, and I shake my head.

The guard, a brawny woman with a sporty pixie cut, chuckles, pocketing the cash. "Thanks kindly. There's a balcony above reserved just for trainers, but we've got a splash zone that's close to the action—"

"No water!" Jackson screeches.

The guard looks down at Jackson, who flinches a bit but still manages to keep himself erect. It seems to impress the woman, at any rate, because she grins. "Balcony it is. Just follow those stairs to the top, take the third right, and pick a seat. Just don't be a distraction to the battling trainers."

"Thank you," True says. Clara and Peter had decided to take a nap in their Pokéballs, leaving me, Kerri, and Jackson to watch the matches. I was hitching a ride on top of Kerri's head—no wonder Jackson loved her so much; she made a great mount—while Jackson squirmed in True's arms, pointing at "pretty fishies!" and "oooooh colors!" It was actually really adorable, and all of us were sort of laughing at him. Kid hardly even noticed, he was so happy.

The first thing I saw when we stepped onto the balcony was the blue and white. It's used everywhere; that shouldn't have surprised me, because it was a water-type gym. But the thing that I noticed immediately afterward was the water. The gym's arena is actually a huge tank that looked thirty-feet high; the trainer's platforms seem to be adjustable by height, to see both the top and the bottom of the pool.

Hovering near a confident-looking Misty is the orange-brown star from earlier; on the other side, a Butterfree was flapping effortlessly next to a reedy-looking boy with a bad haircut. As us Pokémon situate ourselves, True pulls out her Pokédex and points it to the Pokémon. The machine buzzes for a second, and then speaks: " _POKéMON IDENTIFIED AS STARYU, THE STAR SHAPE Pokémon._ "

"Doesn't seem to be many people here," I remark. There're two people dressed in brown cloaks buttoned up to their neck on the opposite side of the balcony; and down below, there are a few teenagers clutching Oddishes and Bellsprouts—they might be challengers for later matches. Every eye is on the battlefield, either on Misty or on her opponent.

"Don't forget challenger, this is your last Pokémon," Misty warned. Her voice seemed amplified—I wonder if it was something to do with the room, or if she was wearing a mic. "You're sure you're okay to keep going?"

We're too high up to see their faces, but I'd bet money that kid was smirking. "Let's go, Lib—use Poisonpowder!"

To my surprise, Misty says absolutely nothing. We watch as the Butterfree arched up toward the Staryu, releasing purple-brown spores; to great gasps from all four of us, the Staryu simply jets toward the Butterfree.

"The hell is that thing doing?" Kerri exclaims.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jackson puts a claw to his lips. "No dist—no dra—no yelling!"

"Keep going, Lib!" the trainer shouts. "Keep using Poisonpowder, we'll stall it out!"

But Misty simply replies: "Bring it down, Alkes."

A quickly-twirling Alkes slams into Lib, who cannot get away no matter how hard she tries, pushing down into the —past any of the floating rafts, and straight into the water. True and I were on our feet, peering over the balcony.

"I can't see anything, can you?"

"We're too high up!"

"Guess that's why there's a splash zone," we hear Kerri remark.

"No water" Jackson whines, and hides his tail behind him.

Without any warning, Alkes erupts from the water with a drenched Lib on top. Lib's trainer is on his knees as Alkes deposits the waterlogged Butterfree in front of him, and even from here we can hear him crying. I have to look away, my ears lowering. True grabs onto my back, as if to steady herself; but when she puts both hands to her mouth, I look down to see Lib trying desperately to flap her wings. She's immediately engulfed by her trainer, who we can see shaking.

Alkes had turned back to its trainer by now, spinning lazily behind her head; I don't think it even sustained any damage. Had the Poisonpowder washed off in the water? It didn't seem poisoned at all—then again, it was hard to tell when the thing didn't have a face.

"It might be best to forfeit right here," Misty says gently. "If you do, you can challenge the gym later when you're better prepared. Does that work for you?"

There's a long silence, until finally the kid nods. "Yes, ma'am."

The few people in the crowd clap appreciatively; I join in, glad that he at least has the chance to try again with his partner Pokémon. I wonder if I had ever seen this kid before, if he had gotten a Starter from Oak or caught one of his own. I wonder if his Starter is even still here.

"So you'll have to jump from platform to platform," Kerri says, looking down. "And whatever the hell you do, _don't_ go into the water. Whatever Peter taught you..."

But I'm not paying attention. The boy has already gotten the hell out of dodge; Misty has just lowered her platform down to the ground, and walks through the double-doors at the other side of the pool, Alkes twirling behind her.

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

Kerri swipes at my tail and I turn to her, glaring. "I've got it, don't take a dive."

"Just for baths!" Jackson chirps, and then shudders. "I hate baths."

"You're not battling, kid," Kerri chuckles. "So lighten up."

We sit down and make ourselves comfortable, thinking that Misty's just taking a break. Sure enough, an hour later, Misty comes back in, facing another challenger: a dark-skinned girl with a brawny Ivysaur, who jumps on top of the main platform.

We watch for hours until the gym finally closes for battles. The girl with the Ivysaur and a few other kids had won badges, but quite a number of them—who, granted, had gone in with things like underleveled Rattata and Oddish—left empty-handed. The pit in my stomach grew and grew with each battle lost, a load that wasn't lifted when someone won their badge.

We head down to the main lobby—to our surprise, Misty stands there with a smile on her face. "Thought I'd seen a few familiar faces up there. Did you enjoy yourselves?"

"Why open your gym up to challengers?" Kerri asks, before True or I can answer politely.

But Misty just laughs, threading her fingers through her hair. "It makes it more fun for me to battle people who know what my style is. Keeps me on my toes, you know?"

That seems to satisfy Kerri, at least, because she nods. "Still seems weird."

Misty just grins, turning to True. "Two in the afternoon is when I'm battling you, right?" Misty asks. True and I nod, and the orange-haired girl waves good-bye. "I'll be waiting, then. Just go through those doors when you're ready tomorrow; Macey'll let you in."

"Sure. Thank you so much," True says.

"My pleasure! Just don't keep me waiting!"

True decides to keep us with Nurse Joy tonight, so we can get fully healed and checked out before battling. Or, so _I_  can get fully healed and checked out before battling.

I don't fall asleep for a long while; whenever I try to close my eyes, I just hear screaming, and the gurgling sounds of water.

"You have to sleep, Case," I murmur restlessly. I burrow myself deep in the blanket nest that Joy had set up for me, trying to imagine True's arms—hell, I'll even go for Jackson's at this rate.

I have to force myself to breathe, in and out, in and out. And after a while of this, when my eyelids become too heavy to keep open anymore, I finally do fall asleep.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

I can remember watching my brother prep for gym battles. Out of the two of us, he was far and away the better fighter—he had that perfect blend of power and passion. Some days I wouldn't see him for hours, because he'd be off training his ass off in preparation for a fight; and when I did see him, he would be covered in a layer of sweat, breathing hard. Sometimes he'd even be dizzy, unable to walk more than a few steps before falling flat on his face.

He loved it, though. " _C'mon, Case, live the dream!_ " he'd always tell me. He'd say that every time I sat on his bedside as the Nurses tried to reset a broken arm or a bent tail; I remember him saying that over and over again, like a mantra, when he was training or recovering from a nasty concussion.

I know how Al would feel about this gym battle: he'd be bouncing on his heels, fresh off of a warm-up practice, ready to kick ass and take names. He'd be crowing his achievements to anyone who would listen, completely confident in himself—and when he won, as he always would, he'd relive each and every moment, and add a few embellishments to boot.

I think about that as I wait in the lobby with True. I'm bouncing off of my heels, fresh off of a warm-up practice... but I'm not ready to go in. I have to keep moving or else I'm going to pass out—I'm so nervous I feel like throwing up, and my head is so light and I can't even fucking think about what's going to happen in there.

The only thing I'm glad for—the only thing that is keeping me from going comletely insane—is that none of the others are here to taunt me. True is, of course, because she has to be; and Kerri and Clara are in their Pokéballs, "for backup." But at my request, everyone else had moved up in the balcony. True might have had to pay a huge lump of cash to get them up there, unsupervised, but everyone had wanted to watch—and it was better, I guess, to have them up where I couldn't quite see them than to have them right behind me. Judging me. Staring at me.

They're going to do that anyway, I know. At least Kerri won't be able to scream at me.

I fixate on everything except those wide double-doors: my eyes flit from the slick white-and-orange tile, to the posters of various water-type Pokémon, to the bright ceiling lights that hurt my eyes. There's a line of trainers hoping to challenge Misty, brushing fingers over Pokéballs or clutching their battlers. It's actually a pretty diverse group, with kids and adults alike. In the two hours we've been here, five trainers have gone through the doors and come back out.

Of those five, three were jumping up and down excitedly with badges in hand.

The other two were whisking their Pokémon away to the emergency room.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump—but it's only True, who's looking down at me. "You need to relax," she murmurs.

"Relax. Ha. Good one," I say, clutching my head in my paws.

Though it draws every eye toward us, True settles down on the cold ground in front of me, crossing her legs. "We can practice those breathing exercises?" she suggests. They're her favorite cool-down exercises, and her mother swears by them. She always says things like, " _How simple is it to just know how to breathe? I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before!_ " and " _She's gotten so much better since she's learned how to breathe, it's amazing_."

"Not every technique works for everyone," I grit.

She knows this, too, but I still feel guilty to see how quickly she deflates. "Then what works for you?"

"Not doing this shit," I sigh.

True leans her cheek against her hand, staring at me with her green eyes. "I know you can do this. I _know_."

But _I_  don't know. And I'm the one who has to fight. And I'm the one who has everything to lose if something goes wrong, because it always _does_ , and—

"True Fargone, please report to the front for your Cascade Gym Match."

Both of us freeze for a long, heavy moment; eventually True heaves herself off of the ground, stumbling a little to catch her balance. She offers me her arm, but I refuse it—I'm trying my hardest not to throw up.

So I walk us to the front. The guard woman from yesterday—hadn't Misty called her Macey?—peers down at us, dressed in jaded jeans and a t-shirt that shows off her impressively built arms. "Everyone ready to battle?"

I grit my teeth into a maybe-this-can-pass-for-a-happy grin. True just nods.

"Standard battle rules apply. Misty gets two Pokémon, you can use as many as you want to. You're also allowed to switch. Floating boards have been set up for landbound Pokémon. You can use the entire arena, above and below the waterline, to your advantage."

The only thing I can think of is how much my brother would have loved this.

"Proceed when you're ready," Macey says, closing the doors behind us. The dark hallway leads up a staircase and onto the adjustable trainer platforms. We know what's going to be out there—a water arena, floating boards. We have a strategy. I just have to be able to remember it.

"You can use your fear to make you stronger," True says under her breath. I look up to catch her eyes, but she's closed them. I don't have to be touching her to tell how badly she's shaking, just as I don't have to be in front of her face to tell that she's concentrating on her own breathing.

Somehow, the idea that she could be just as nervous as I am makes me even more afraid. But I just nod. "What doesn't kill you, and all that."

She doesn't reply to that. When True opens her eyes she looks down at me, throwing a shaky smile. She extends her hand toward me, but, as if on a second thought, she starts to pull it back; this time I grab on, tugging it so that I can climb up her arm and come to rest on her shoulder.

We walk into a much larger crowd than yesterday: the splash zone has a number of people and Pokémon, some wearing neon-colored ponchos over their heads. Even though I can't quite see the tops of the balconies, I can hear movement above me—probably quite a few up top, too. My legs start shaking again, but this time I just start breathing.

In and out. In and out.

True takes her place on her platform; I jump onto the closest floating board, feeling it rock under my weight. I know just by jumping a few times that this one isn't fixed—I wonder if the others are like that, or if Misty just loves giving her opponents heart attacks.

She's waiting on the other side of the stadium, wearing a skin-tight red bathing suit that matches her fiery hair perfectly. At this level, I can just make out the pleased expression on her face; her hands are on her hips in a confident display. It reminds me so much of Al that I have to stare, a little bit, even as a voice over the PA introduces the crowd, and as the first of Misty's Pokémon is released onto her nearest platform.

The red energy forms into a blindingly-white creature, with a dark muzzle and two front flippers—its back ends in a curled tail, which slams the board repeatedly. The board doesn't rock—either the Seel isn't striking it that hard, or I'm right and that board isn't a board at all.

I hear True's Pokédex chirp: " _SEEL, THE SEA LION Pokémon. LOVES FREEZING COLD CONDITIONS. RELISHES SWIMMING IN A FRIGID CLIMATE OF AROUND 14F DEGREES._ "

Does that make it an ice-type Pokémon? I lower my body close enough to the edge so that water laps onto the board, tugging at my fingers; it's got just enough of a chill to it that I shiver. Either Misty likes to promote hypothermia, or this Seel _is_ an ice-type. I turn to True, eyes wide and shaking, but she just looks at me with a confident smile.

If she looks that confident, she has to know what's she doing. At least a little.

"Challenger True has the first move," the PA voice calls. "The round ends when one side is unable to continue. Begin!"

"Alright, Casey, start with a Thunder Wave!"

I'm so nervous that I let off the attack without properly charging it—the bolts diffuse halfway between me and the Seel. Before I can begin charging again, Misty shouts, "Andre, dive under!" By the time I'm charged, Andre has completely disappeared in the water.

No—the bottom of the pool is so dark, and the water so clear, that Andre shows up easily. He's coming right toward me. I clench my muscles and start charging, anticipating True to call another electric attack—

"Now come up for a Water Gun!"

Knowing where Andre is doesn't mean I can avoid his attack—he shoots up, arching high above the water line, and sprays water. It hits me square in the chest, and I have to grit the board with my teeth in order to stay afloat. I hear a splash on the other side, and open my eyes—Andre is nowhere to be seen.

The attack is so sudden that I release the charge I'm building up—and by the time Andre is underwater, I'm pulsing with electricity that jolts through the water.

I pull myself back up, shaking water from my fur. Andre emerges, somewhat singed, but with a murderous look on his face. "Pull tricks like that often, punk?"

I'm floored. Such a dopey looking Pokémon shouldn't be so... no, I can't think like that. Look at me.

"Enough with the taunts, Andre. Use Headbutt!"

And again Andre dives into the water.

I don't even have to turn to True to start charging electricity—but this time I'm looking toward the next floating board, just a short distance away. Andre comes right back up, expecting to find me right where he left me—but he slides onto the board as I'm jumping off of it, arching through the air with electricity nipping at my cheeks.

"Let go!" True cries. "Thundershock!"

And I do. Andre has no time to slip into the water before I attack, still pumping electricity as I land hard on the other board.

When the light fades and I'm panting, Andre pushes himself up from the board, panting. Misty doesn't even finish her call for a Water Gun before a high-pressure blast comes toward me. I jump up—and then up again, becoming a blur of yellow-white as I release another Thundershock.

I land on a board close to the center of the pool. Andre pushes himself up one more time, before sliding onto his perch, unmoving.

"Misty's Seel has been defeated! Round One goes to the Challenger!"

And to my utter amazement, as Andre is recalled in a beam of red light, the crowd starts clapping. Shouting, even—I hear a few "Well done!"s and "What a cute little Pikachu!"s, and unless I'm imagining things I can even hear a few "GOOOO CASEY!"s. I try and look up, and have to grin—I see a tiny red nose poking over the creamy ledge, and a pair of purple ears twitching excitedly.

I flash them a thumbs-up, which—for some insane reason—gets me laughter.

I turn to True, who's just beaming—but then her face falls, and I turn to see Misty's final Pokémon.

The twirling ten-pointed star hovers just in front of my face, close enough so that I can see myself reflected in its huge blood-colored gem. I take a step back, careful not to fall into the water, but it immediately starts circling around me. I close my eyes—I'm getting dizzy enough just looking at it twirling; if I focus, I'm going to lose my shit.

"Round Two, begin!"

Misty wastes no time. "Acamar, you know what to do!"

Without any further command, the Starmie slams into my back—I'm flung so far I slide against the next floating board, and skid painfully to a halt. I open my eyes and look up to see Acamar racing toward me.

"Charge up and use Thunder Wave again, Casey!" True yells.

I don't have enough time to charge up to full power—but Acamar is close enough to me that, when I do release the attack, it doesn't have to travel far. The pale bolts wrap around the Starmie and constrict before the glow of the attack fades away—I watch as the Starmie falls into the pool so hard that water spills out, sloshing the spectators down below.

"Guess that's why they call it the splash zone," I mutter.

Misty's looking all over for the dark-purple star Pokémon—unlike Andre, who stuck out like a sore thumb, Acamar blends much better into the dark floor. I take a moment to look around the water. If he goes toward me, I can jump to another platform—I can Thundershock it again—I can—

Suddenly the pool erupts—Acamar's spinning violently, sending even more water over the edge. But unlike Andre's flips, this creates waves—violent ones that rock me and splash water all over me and around me; and try as I might to hold on, I get swept away in the chaos—water fills my lungs and stings my eyes and I begin to sink.

Everywhere is down—no, up—no, right—and I can't see anything. No—I see faces, peering up at me with wide eyes, expecting me to get back up, to do something, _anything_. But I can't, I can't move and I can't _breathe_ , oh Arceus I can't breathe—

_I'm going to drown if I don't get up._

I open my eyes; the water stings them so furiously, but I have to keep them open, I have to get to the surface. When I kick, I go up one way, but when I kick again I'm sent back down. I can swim, but I'm far from strong. I can't—I can't—

That's when I see him. I don't know if it's because I've thought of him so much lately, or if I'm actually _dying_ , but he's there.

 _You can't be here_ , I want to say.

The Raichu looks at me with those mischievous eyes and that impish grin. It has to be a trick of the water, because I can't feel his slender tail poke me underneath the chin. He looks at me for one long, solid moment, and I have to will myself to not open my mouth any more than I already have—the edges of my vision are already growing dark, and everything is fuzzy as hell.

I feel his voice more than I hear it: _"You've got a show to put on."_ And I just stare, because it's something he would say—leave it to Al to be the asshole who makes me perform when I'm about to d—

No. It's a trick of the light, a fluke.

I have to get up.

So I kick, and I kick, and I kick, even though I see the hovering purple star coming to assist me. Finally I break the surface, coughing the water out of my lungs. I hack and gulp and sputter and breathe, before I feel a body underneath me, digging sharp points into my belly. And I can't, I fucking _can't_ anymore—I send electricity out and out and out until even I can feel the sting of it, until I can't see anything at all but bright bright _bright_ , until we're both in the water again.

I don't sink this time, for some reason—this time I float, bobbing just enough to be able to see where the nearest board is. I struggle on top of it, sliding down onto my belly because it's so slick with water.

Acamar comes up lazily, levitating closer to the water than before. I glare deep into its gem—is that it's brain? I don't fucking care—and release Thundershock after Thundershock, until I can't stand up anymore.

"Enough!"

And it's only at that command, that tearful cry by True, that I collapse onto the board and into darkness as the crowd cheers yet again.

* * *

 

I wake up crying.

I don't see anything, because I'm afraid to close my eyes and see him. So I depend entirely on what I'm feeling. The ground is solid underneath me; I can feel heat from above. A lamp? A light? I can't tell. I won't open them. I won't I won't _I won't._

I start shaking. That's when a pair of large arms wraps around me, pulling me in close to a tight embrace that makes it hard to breathe. I tug at the brown-red strands of hair and latch on, not planning on letting go. True winces, but she doesn't push me away. If anything, she grabs on tighter, murmuring words I can't hear. I know she's repeating something, but I don't know what it is.

So I use my voice, rubbed raw—by screaming? By panic? By water?—and sing. And True, voice shaking—I can tell that now, I can, it's not shaking as hard as mine is—joins me, stroking the back of my head.

I don't know how long we stay like that, with us murmuring garbled lyrics and True rocking us back and forth; eventually I do open my eyes, sticky with dried tears. I'm in a bed in... the emergency room? My arms feel so sore and I feel like there's a weight pushing against my chest. But I'm alive.

Holy fuck. I'm alive.

A flicker of light from the bedside table catches my eye; I can't see what's making it, the gleam is so bright and my eyes are so unfocused, but it reminds me of why I'm here in the first place. "Did we—"

"It doesn't matter," True murmurs, and falls onto the bed with me, careful not to disturb any of the beeping machines or resting Pokémon. "Rest."

 

The Cascade Badge remains unnoticed for the rest of the night.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

I wake up to True curled at my side, and a Chansey poking and prodding at a needle in my arm.

Wait— _there's a needle in my arm_ —

"Don't you even think of moving," a sweet voice hisses. I look up to see a Chansey holding a syringe to my arm. "I spent too long finding a vein that'd work for you to rip it out and bleed all over."

Well, if I wasn't moving already, I sure as fuck am not moving now. At least it's only the one, but still. "Don't you have to ask permission for that sort of shit?"

"Watch your language, there are children here." She huffs. "It's just a final antibiotic."

"Do you have to do it like that?" I whimper. The thing feels weird inside my arm, and I want it out as soon as possible.

"Unless you want to be chained to the bed for another day while we drip one into you with inferior drugs, yes. And you'd still have a needle in your arm." She takes a small pad and what looks like tape into one hand; with the other, after looking at the syringe for a brief moment, she pulls the needle out. I hardly have time to exclaim or to even notice that I'm bleeding before she presses the tiny pad onto the injection site. "Much easier, and you only have to do it once," she murmurs, almost more to herself than to me. I don't think even thirty seconds pass before I'm taped up, given a small candy, and patted on the head.

"Whenever your trainer gets up, you're free to go, dear." I swear she even smiles before pushing through the sterile-white door.

I take a quick look around, now that I know I'm not going to die (immediately) or be attacked (yet): there are several beds, made up with white sheets and pillows, with a table sitting between each bed. Only one of the beds is occupied, with an Oddish so bandaged I can only see a few tips of its leaves poking out.

The bed is comfy, so I lean back and pop the sweet green candy into my mouth. I chase it around with my tongue, melting the flavor. That provides enough of a distraction to pass the time; I'm not feeling hungry, and there's no way I'm waking True up right now. So I lean back and relax, allowing time to pass without incident.

By the time True stirs awake, with her hair in complete disarray and dark circles under her eyes, I feel pretty good. My arms are still aching like hell and I'm in desperate need of some water, but I don't feel like dying. So that's good. She looks bewildered that I'm awake and, well, not crying—and to be perfectly honest, I am, too.

"So, uh... hey," I say awkwardly.

True opens her mouth to say something, but whatever she's about to say is swallowed up by the world's biggest yawn. When she brushes her hair out of her face, I see dark circles underneath her eyes; there's a splotch of red on the cheek that was resting on the mattress.

She looks like a wreck. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

True shakes her head, before hesitating. "M'be," she murmurs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "No clocks'n this place. Wha' time is it?"

"Check your Pokédex, I think there's a clock there."

It takes a moment for her to get her bearings; she fumbles for the bag on the end of the bed, taking a few minutes to actually bring the sack on top of the bed. I sigh and push myself off, digging through unused Pokéballs and Potions to get to the red machine. With a CLICK, the Pokédex opens to display a large screen. "Uh, time, Dex?"

" _TIME IS TEN, FOURTY-SEVEN. DATE IS SATURDAY, MAY SEVENTEENTH._ "

No fucking way. "True, when did we leave Pallet?"

"The sixth of May," True answers immediately. She plops onto the bed next to me, landing stupidly close to me and the open Pokédex. "Why?"

"We've been on this journey for eleven days," I say.

She looks up to me with clearer eyes and a surprised expression. "That's all?"

" _That's all_?" I shake my head. "Eleven days is a long time... almost two weeks!"

"Only two weeks," True marvels. "Wow."

"You—"

Suddenly there's a knock at the door, interrupting my thoughts. Through the small window on the door I see Misty, her face blurred by the glass. "Do you... can I come in?"

I'm not sure why I'm so surprised to see the young Gym Leader at our door, but I stiffen. I have no clue why the girl is here—to check up on me? To gloat? To do some secret Cerulean-exclusive ceremony for beating her gym? Yesterday's match is still too fresh in my head for me to do anything but start sweating.

The touch at my shoulder brings my eyes up. I look up to see True looking down at me, worry in her eyes. "I won't let her in if you don't want me to," she says.

Great. Because _I_ need to be the bad guy. Unless... "You wouldn't happen to have Kerri in one of those balls, would you?"

I can tell True is surprised, but she shakes her head. "No, they're all out waiting in the lobby. Nurse Joy said I couldn't bring any other Pokémon into the ER, balls or not, so..."

Well, shit. I look back up to the door, where Misty is still peering in... and after a long moment, I sigh. "Come in," I call out.

She comes out wearing the outfit I'd first seen her in: the trunk shorts, the yellow top, the red suspenders. Without a word, Misty pushes through the door, hesitating for a moment before closing it with an almost inaudible click. She's walking toward us like she's afraid the ground is going to explode underneath her; it's a far cry from the fierce protector I'd seen on Nugget Bridge, and the confident battler in the gym. I push myself up into a standing position as she takes a seat on the opposite bed, sitting erect. True starts to massage my shoulder, and as the muscles start to relax and unclench, I sink beside her side.

A few tense moments pass before Misty turns to look at me; her blue-green eyes lock onto mine, and I have to fight to not look away. "I wanted to congratulate you on the battle yesterday... and to say sorry for what Acamar might have done to you."

Demon Starmie wasn't going to apologize for itself? I scoff—True shoves me, and I manage to pass it off as a cough. "It's, uh... it's fine. I'm fine. Got a whole bunch of drugs and everything, so..."

Her brow lifts, but she chuckles. "I'm glad. The Pokémon Center has gotten a little too used to me sending challengers here... so I'm sure they know what they're doing!"

I can't even respond to that. There is _nothing_ I can say to that. I almost look for a maniacal grin or glint to her eye, but there's nothing; she's grinning at us with an innocent-enough smile. I think that unnerves me more than her actual words. True stutters a confused "Th...ank you?" And Misty only smiles, with a slight nod and a laugh.

"Well, that's a load off. But actually, I came here for another reason entirely." She shuffles through her pockets—can she even _have_ those?—and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper that gleams under the light. "Shit, it's all crumpled... oh, uh, anyway! This is a ticket for the SS Anne, it—"

The SS Anne is one of the premier ferry lines in the world, serving the rich and influential; many trainers all around the world vacationed on the boat, seeing the other regions and battling to their hearts' content. "You're giving us a ticket to a _cruise ship?_ " I yelp.

Misty just stares at us, like I was supposed to say " _yes of_ course _we would love to, thank you!_ " "Well, yeah. I was invited, but with everything going on with Team Rocket... well, I was gone for a few days already, and I don't feel comfortable leaving again. So I thought you all might like to go instead of me. The food there's supposed to be fantastic, and there are supposed to be a bunch of trainers from around the world on board. It sounds like a great vacation, and I thought... well, since I put you in here in the first place, I thought you'd might like to go?"

True's practically fumbling for her words; her hand had stopped rubbing my shoulder a long time ago, but it was shaking so violently now that I had to look to see if she was having a panic attack. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking, but her face was clear and she wasn't crying. Yet. "Th-Can I accep—I don't think—"

So I grab the crumpled piece of paper, flattening it out and examining it. "SET SAIL ON THE SS ANNE" is emblazoned in dark red letters on the creamy ticket, with a picture of a boat underneath the print. There's no place for a name, which is worrying. "They'll take this even though we're not you?" I ask, looking up at Misty.

"I'll call ahead to make sure everything's taken care of," Misty says, waving her hand as if it's nothing.

For the love of Arceus.

By now True had recomposed herself. Out of the corner of my eye I see her bow her head low, so that her hair covers her face. "Th-Thank you so much, I don't—"

"Know how to repay me? You're doing me a favor." With a wink and a laugh, Misty pushes herself off of the bed. There's no sign of hesitance in her step as she walks toward the door, which is relieving. "Just have a good time," she says, before leaving the room.

"Put that in your billfold right now," I say, handing her the ticket.

A few minutes of organizing and repacking later, True and I hop off of the bed. Shouldering her pack, True pushes the door open. As we walk the short hallway from the room to the lobby, True stretches. "I need to call Mom and tell her everything's alright. Everyone should be out waiting fo—?!"

Peter and Jackson don't give her any time to finish; the second we're out of the door, the two of them slam into me, tugging at my arms and saying things that blur into other things. It's an unusual display of affection for the Rattata, and I don't know Jackson well enough to say if it's normal for him—but I look at Clara and Kerri, who are just laughing a storm at my misfortune. "There's the champ!" Kerri crows. "Asshole can battle a possessed Starmie, but put him up against his teammates and he's useless!"

I don't even mind the teasing, or the fact that there are two heavy weights on my chest; I can't do anything but smile and laugh as Peter chitters away about "Y-You were so brave!" and Jackson squeals as he wraps his tiny arms around me.

"Yeah yeah, now gerroff before I can't breathe." The two weights disappear off my chest—well, it'd be better to say that they moved, pressing against either side. "Maybe a little more?" They take a few steps away, but I can still feel Jackson's warm breath tickle my cheek—and if I'm perfectly honest, I'd rather go another round with Andre than take a hard hit from the Charmander's Ember again. "Aaaand a little more."

When I don't feel as claustrophobic, I turn my eye to see True seated at one of the videophones; her hands are waving wildly and her ankles are crossed, and even through the good-natured chatter of the onlooking trainers I can hear her laughing at something. I breathe a sigh of relief, and look back at Clara, who fluffs her feathers and smiles. The two of them walk over, and immediately Kerri starts blasting me with questions about the match—Jackson and Peter, thank Arceus, take over, over-exaggerating almost every blow and counter.

"And then Demon Starmie went _WSHHH_ , all around and over, and suddenly Casey was under the water!"

"He di-didn't come up for a lon-long time, either, but then sudd-denly—"

"Demon Starmie goes underwater, and then Casey comes up, and it was all LIGHT!"

Of course, that's when True comes up to us, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from laughing. "Can I interrupt storytime?" she asks. Clara flutters up on her shoulder, and True pets the bird's head with a gentle hand. "I looked up a map from the computer—Vermilion's a three-day walk from here, and the SS Anne is supposed to dock on Thursday."

"But it's only Saturday," I point out, still laughing. "Why the rush?"

"SS Anne?" Kerri asks.

"Who's Anne?" Jackson questions, cocking his head.

True chuckles. "It's a big boat. That's why Misty came in to the room, she gave us a ticket."

"Oh," Jackson says. He pauses. "What's a boat?"

That makes all of us laugh again. "I'll explain on the way, kid," I say. "But first, let's stock up."

The Mart isn't far away from the Center, at least, which is nice. I wait outside with the others while True purchases our supplies. The pack looks significantly heavier than it had moments before; True's even sagging under the weight, a bit, but she says nothing. "Everyone all set?"

"We got lots of food, right?" Jackson asks, looking up at the backpack.

"Yeah," True laughs. "I mean, it's gonna be a long journey, even if we get to stop in Saffron."

"You won't be able to cut through Saffron," a husky voice intervenes. We all turn toward the interjecting voice, but I'm the only one who recognizes the muscular Nidorino, who laughs when I make eye-contact with him. "Good to see ya, uh... Casey, yeah?"

"Yeah," I say. I'm not quite sure how to feel about seeing Chester outside of his bar, and among people—it's weird, after meeting him in a place with no humans whatsoever. "What're you doing here? Don't you have... uh..."

Chester laughs. "We've got a few hours left until opening. But I got a message from a friend of mine down there—gate between here and Saffron is closed."

I don't know a lot about Saffron, but I know that having even one out of the four gates closed can cause problems—it's a major trade city, specializing in manufactured goods like Potions and Pokéballs. "How long is it closed for?"

The Nidorino shrugs. "Wouldn't know. Stuff like this happens sometimes. There're a few tunnels running underground the city, though, and a bunch of signs to guide the way. Hope none of you are afraid of the dark," he chuckles.

I take a quick look around; nobody seems to be cowering with fear, so that's a good sign. "Uh, thanks, I guess. Guess we're heading out, then."

Chester nods, flashing a bright white smile. "Sure thing. Bet you all're ready to get out of this city."

"I needed to be out of here _yesterday_ ," Kerri mutters.

"Good thinkin'. Follow me, and I'll take you to the Brambles."

"Thanks—wait," I say. "The Brambles?"

The Nidorino says nothing, only gesturing to have us follow him with a good-natured chuckle. I turn to True, who just shrugs. "Better than getting lost in the city again," she says. Jackson squeaks happily and runs after Chester—which, of course, has Kerri running after him. She grabs his arm with her mouth and murmurs something; that's enough to make the Charmander clamber onto her back, giggling.

The rest of us follow close behind, taking care to not get separated from the others. I get a few excited stares by several passerby, and overhear a few whispers of "That's the one" and "He's as strong as he is cute!"—they don't look familiar at all to me, but I guess they could have been spectators. Peter shuffles at my side, looking around as much as he can. "We'll come back here again," I murmur to him—but then again, I could just as well be talking to myself as much as I am talking to him.

I don't know how much time passes, exactly, but it goes by without a word; we're all too busy staring and wondering just what the hell the Brambles are. In the heat of the late morning—or almost afternoon?—every door is open. I catch whiffs of baking bread and steaming pasta and roasting vegetables and drink it all in greedily. I'm about to suggest stopping for a little bit for some lunch when I see a huge mess of _something_ against a high, white-painted fence. It's a mess of thorns and tangles and barbs, stretching high above the wall.

"The hell do you get in and out of this place?" I marvel.

Chester turns back to us, laughing. "How do you think we all can afford to keep my place open? We double as a clearing crew."

As we look closer, though, I see shapes moving beneath the tangle of thorns—and I'm surprised, yet again, to recognize a few of them. I see the Weepinbell first, firing Razor Leaf after Razor Leaf at the barbed tangle—and then, when the gap has become wide enough for her to pass through, I see a flicker of flame and know it has to be the stocky Growlithe who hogged the stage. But I watch, with horrified eyes, as the path constricts to almost nothing—maybe Peter could push through, with a few scrapes. There's no way in hell any of us could get by in one piece. No wonder they need a team here.

"We get quite a few customers who use this path 'cause it's a straightforward shot to Saffron and the underground tunnels. Gets us some extra cash to keep everything in order, and it gives us something to do in the daylight hours." Chester turns toward us with a sly grin and a twinkle in his acid-green eyes. "For five-hundred cash, we'll create a good ol' path for you to traverse through. Once you go past, though, you'll have to take the way to Vermilion—it's a bitch getting on the other side, and I don't know if Minka's at her post."

"Minka works here?" True asks.

Chester rolls his eyes. "When she feels like it. Spends so much time at the gym watching matches she misses all her shifts—"

But with a loud "I'm here!" the Bulbasaur runs toward us, huffing and puffing on shaking legs. Jackson perks up at the cry, and jumps off of Kerri's back to sprint toward her. Between pants, Minka laughs, catching Jackson with her vines. "Oh, hello again, little one."

The Weepinbell, panting, turns to the newcomer with a glare and a growl. "Fucking finally. Can I go home now, Chester?"

"No, Deed, you've still got a few hours." The Nidorino hangs his head, sighing. "What happened at the gym _this_ time, Minka." He doesn't even ask it like a question—it's like it's expected for the Bulbasaur to be continually late.

"Oh, Misty was supposed to come in, but she left all of a sudden and... well, I lost track of time. It won't hap—"

"That's what you always say!" The Weepinbell growls, jumping her way toward us. "'I'll come early the next time!' Until you blow us off for the next gym match!" Minka draws her head back, but Deed points a leaf threateningly at the Bulbasaur's face. "I have half a mind to just—"

"No hurting Minka!" Jackson roars, spitting a few warning Embers from his place at Minka's side. One would think that a grass-type would move from a temperamental fire-type—but Deed doesn't move; instead, two thick, barbed vines extend from the top of her head and lift up—

"Dee, he's just a child—"

But Minka's words go unheard as they strike down against Jackson's head. The small Charmander yowls, holding his head in his hands, before spewing hot Embers—

But they don't hit the Weepinbell. Chester stands, intimidating with his bristling spines and his narrowed eyes, between the two feuding Pokémon, tail lashing behind him. "Both of you, enough!" With a snarl, Chester turns to Deed, snapping something I can't make out. But I know it's a command, because Deed, with a huff, hops away from us and the Brambles.

"The hell is going on back there?!" a deep voice yelps. "Brambles aren't gettin' cut by themselves!"

If Chester could, I swear he would have held his head in his paws. He makes do with a shake of his head and an exasperated sigh, before turning to all of us. "I think you all should get goin'."

Minka's rubbing Jackson's head with a feather-light touch of her vine, but she turns toward Chester with a hesitant glance. "If you'd just let me get them across, Chester—"

"I meant _all_ of you."

Kerri comes to pull Jackson away from the Bulbasaur, who's staring wide-eyed at Chester. "You can't... you can't mean that."

"I've loved having you on board, Minka, you know I have. But Deed's got a point, and I think you'd be happier gettin' away from Cerulean. Go get the itch out of your system. Maybe by then, Deed'll have calmed down."

She had been a fantastic helper, and loved by all of the children... but I can't help but wonder if Cassidy had felt that same itch, if it had driven her to volunteer for becoming a Starter. I look toward Clara and Peter, who are shaking and stunned; to Jackson, who's still sniffling; to Kerri, who's just looking away, clearly uncomfortable; and, finally, to True, who only has to meet my eyes for a second before nodding.

"We've got a space on our team... if you wanted to come with us."

Minka looks at us with watery eyes, clearly stunned. "You're asking me...?" she whispers—she's hesitating, with her head and body low, like she's about to get the rug pulled out of her. Again.

So I walk toward her, carefully placing a paw on her side. From up close I can see the damage her bulb has taken, perhaps over years of battling and work and stress—there are patches of brown interspersed with the green. I don't know if Nurse Joy has taken a look at this, or even if it's been checked; I wonder how she would keep up on a journey like this, or even the three-day walk to Vermillion. "If you wanted to," I say slowly, "there's room. As a thanks, for taking me home."

She lowers her head and nods, and I turn away to ignore the tears dribbling down her face. So I turn to True, who's just smiling as she holds an empty Pokéball in her hand. "We have all of our supplies?" I ask her.

"Potions and Antidotes and food, and a few blankets. Everything else we should be able to find on the road."

I nod, and turn to Chester. There's still a glint of anger in his expression, but I see that faint light of contentment in his eyes. "Then get us out of here, sir."

The Nidorino nods, turning to the thorny barrier. "Alright, Evan, how hot can you make that flame?"

From over the Brambles: "Do I get the mic all night tonight?"

"However much you can handle," Chester sighs, then mutters, "no one'll be able to hear when they go home."

The Growlithe on the other side answers with a mighty plume of flame, scorching a tall path through the Brambles. "Now go on'n get out of here, before I have to shove you out!"

I run without thinking, feeling noses brush against my tail and hearing heavy footsteps follow me. By the time all of us are out, the Brambles are beginning to close—but Minka is only just getting through the pass. The thorns scrape her bulb, but she, too, escapes, panting. True sprays a Potion onto her, gently massaging the medicine into the wounds, but Minka is too busy laughing to pay attention. I smile, looking behind me. The Route splits into two paths, disappearing out of sight underneath grass and a steep decline. We aren't far beyond Cerulean's borders, and yet I can only just hear the sounds of humans and residential Pokémon; instead, I hear Pidgey-song and rustling long grasses being pushed by breezes.

I don't know when it was that the wild seemed more comfortable than the city, but I marvel in it, all the same. Minka comes to sit at my side, catching my eye with a warm smile and a gentle nudge at my shoulder. "I bet we could make the trip to Vermilion in two days."

Kerri scoffs behind us. "Quicker we get there, quicker we can start training again."

"Again?" Minka asks. "In my day, we battled the old-fashioned way. On the road."

That interests Kerri, who looks at the older Bulbasaur with an amused expression. "You'll have to show me what you've got, then."

Minka simply chuckles. "For you, my dear, it will be my pleasure."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Route Five splits off into three different paths: one grassy patch of grass that ran for miles, and two dirt roads. From my vantage point it was hard to tell which path was the safest—but Kerri, being Kerri, had made her case for the it would've been a hike to get from Saffron to Cerulean, but the other way around didn't seem too bad, as long as you knew where you were putting your feet. The grass doesn't grow quite as thickly as it did on Route One—there were little paths where travelers and wild Pokémon had pushed their way through, and rocks that rose up, fat and sturdy, breaking up the landscape.

It would be a nice route. An easy journey.

At least, that's what we had thought.

Oh, most of it was grass and rocks, don't get me wrong—but as we had continued on, pushing through the grasses and disturbing some of the wild Pokémon, something had struck me as... well, not right. But I had pressed it down and just continued on. Clara had dive-bombed a group of Pidgey resting on the rocks, sending the three birds flying off to the west—but then, suddenly, they disappeared.

True had narrowed her eyes and called all of us over to tail the three Pidgey. We followed slowly, like we were trying to track them down for dinner. The farther we went, the more the grass thinned out, revealing rocky, uneven ground. Jackson took that opportunity to race ahead of us, which of course made us run after him.

As quickly as Jackson was running, I would've thought the sudden stop he made was impossible—but he dug his heels in, kicking up a cloud of dust that nearly blinded me. We stopped just before falling over. I had peered over and, after seeing a thick cluster of thorns running up and down the bottom, turned right back around.

"So we'll just keep going this way," Kerri had said, chuckling.

"This way" had consisted of three more ledges, twice as high as True was tall, absolutely no shade, and wild Pokémon who were spoiling for fights. We had left close to noon—I didn't have any idea what time it was now, since True was so concentrated on just walking forward and not collapsing, but the afternoon sun blazed above us, white-hot and hellish.

Clara has it easiest, of course, and I swore I had seen her laughing when Peter had taken a tumble down the slope ten feet. Minka was using her vines in order to steady herself and close distances her short legs couldn't reach. Even Kerri has had a few close calls, stumbling so badly over one of the ledges that she bruised her jaw. She still walks around, though, kicking at rocks and snapping at any unfortunate wild Pokémon who cross her path. Peter mostly rides her back, but sometimes he jumps down to brush through the tall grasses, acting as back-up for Kerri. The only one who doesn't seem to be having any trouble at all is Jackson, who seems to have gotten _more_ energized with the rocky slope and the hot summer sun. He jumps from rock to rock and walks over the uneven path like it was a field of fucking flowers.

I hear True muttering something and have to turn; she's clutching at rocks and looks down, trying to steady herself as she makes it down this cliff. "I didn't think I'd hate anything more than going _up_ a slope," True mutters behind me. "Didn't think we'd need a rock-climbing kit."

I look down to Minka, who has paused to catch her breath, and sigh. "You said supply carts come through this road all the time?"

She looks up at me like I've lost my mind. "Not from this road, they don't. They use the dirt paths."

Kill me. No—kill _Kerri_ , who had been so adamant to get to training that she didn't look both ways before jumping over the first ledge. I turn to see her scowling, looking up at the ledge above us "There's gotta be an easier way than this!" Kerri snarls, kicking out. Her blow catches a rock so hard that it shatters, showering us with pebbles and bits of stone.

Peter dodges the flying chips instead of confronting them head-on, but to my surprise he clutches onto Kerri's nose, the hairs along his back bristling. "N-Not if you cr-crush us!"

"We won't be getting anywhere if we keep fighting," Minka sighs. Faster than a wink, a slender green vine wraps around Peter's waist and pulls him away from an agitated Kerri.

"Yeah, no fighting!" Jackson chirps, spitting Embers at patches of grass. They don't catch fire—that doesn't even seem _possible_ , given the heat—but the sizzling sounds and the smell of burning foliage isn't doing me any favors. Clara, who had been fluttering close to the Charmander, flies away with a startled squawk and perches on top of True's bowed head.

She looks up, her face almost as red as her hair, and pants a stern, "Jackson, quit it." She leans on a boulder to catch her breath, her hands gripping her knees. "Minka's... right, we need to... stop fighting."

"Why?" I hear Kerri scoff. "S'not like we can get _lost_. That Nidorino said the tunnels were down this way—"

"For one second," I growl, "stop busting up rocks, shut up, and take a break." I plop into a patch of grass, wincing as a sharp pebble digs into my thigh.

The Nidorina rolls her eyes, but she does sit down into the grass. With the sun in my eyes, I can hardly see her blue-green body for the surroundings; but I can pinpoint her, thanks to her heavy breaths. Seems like she's tired, too, but wouldn't show it.

Peter, apparently free from Minka's grip, scurries onto the top of a rock and looks out. "Th-There're trees over th-there—"

"No shit," I mumble.

"An-And I think... maybe i-if we go past th-the trees, we can... get there."

I look up in the skies for Clara, but the Spearow is nowhere to be seen. With a scowl, I push myself up and brush the dust off of my fur, climbing onto the rock True was lounging on. She had a huge bottle of water out and was guzzling at it like her whole life depended on it—and hell, maybe it did, under this heat. "You gonna be okay, kid?"

True nods, pulling the bottle away from her lips. "Yeah, just... needed a breather. You want some?" she asks, gesturing the bottle to me. It's only about half-full, and I know we're going to want it later, but my mouth is already dry from breathing dust and being under his unrelenting sun. So I take it, taking a few huge gulps. It isn't cool, by any means... but it's wet and it feels good in my mouth, so I don't complain.

My tongue is still flashing down at my chin, trying to catch any stray drops, when I see Clara flying toward us from the south. She lands down at the rock beside me, almost clipping True's head. Peter looks up with a stick-straight tail, his eyes bright with surprise. "D-Did you see anything?"

That question brings the others toward us: Kerri pads up, Jackson at her side, and Minka sits at the base of the rock, her head tilted. Peter jumps off of his rock and scurries to the base of the rock beside Minka, whiskers twitching.

Clara flaps up into the air again—that's when I notice the dark gray tag held fast in her clawed foot. "There're people over there?" I ask. The little bird nods, screeching once before gesturing to the south. Even from here I can see the treeline, high above us. If nothing else, trees mean shade, and maybe even a few berries. "Straight through, right?"

True pushes herself up, swiveling her foot. "Were there any other ledges, Clara?" She watches as Clara lifts up a little, and then suddenly falls a few feet. She punctuates the action with one loud squawk. I don't know what the hell she means, but True nods her head like she's spoken clearly. "Just one?" True asks; when Clara squawks again, the red-haired girl nods.

"Alright, guys, just one more, and then we'll be in the shade!"

Kerri groans, but stands up, shaking dirt from her body. "I fucking hate this."

"You were the one who chose this path," Minka says, stretching her legs out.

Kerri's head snaps toward the Bulbasaur so quickly that I almost get whip-lash just watching them. "You didn't say _don't_ go down that way, either!"

"You wanted to train, so I said nothing about it," Minka says.

"Well, you—!"

Suddenly the Nidorina disappears in a flash of red. I look up, startled, to see True holding Kerri's Pokéball tight in her hand, before attaching it to her belt. I can't stop the grin on my face, even as Jackson whines. "She's going to be so angry when you let her out next," I say, grinning.

"She's exhausted," True says, chuckling at my delighted expression. "She won't mind. If we let her rest for a bit, I'm sure she'll be alright."

"Kerri" and "won't mind" are almost never in the same sentence, but like hell am I going to try and convince True to let her back out. Not when it's so blissfully quiet.

It doesn't take very long to get to the final cliff, thank Arceus. I look down to see just how far we have to jump, and breathe a sigh of relief. It's only about as tall as True is, with plenty of steady footholds. Already the I can almost feel the difference in temperature, even from up here, and I almost start drooling.

"Okay, so as long as we don't sprain our ankles, we should be all set," True says, bracing herself.

I open my mouth to say something, but True doesn't give me the chance; she jumps down the cliff without another word, cheering. She lands awkwardly, falling down onto her side with her hair falling into her face—but she's laughing, looking at us with a teasing smile. "It's not far, you can jump!" she calls down, pushing herself up.

Jackson drops down without a second thought; Minka and Peter are far more hesitant, though eventually they, too, jump down to join True. Soon I'm the only one standing on top of the ledge, trying to brace myself for impact, and sigh. "You sure there isn't another—AAH!"

I feel wings beating my back, and lose my balance. Rocks scratch my back and arms as I tumble down, far less gracefully than True, landing face-first onto the ground. It isn't _as_ painful, compared to some of the falls I'd taken during training, but it still hurts. I groan and look up to see Clara looking down at me, her eyes bright with mirth.

Dumb bird. "You're lucky I didn't shock you," I mutter, which only makes her laugh more.

I see Minka withdraw a vine out of the corner of my eye, and turn to look to the forest. "The trees shouldn't go far," she says. "So if we just press on through, we should be able to get to the gate and the underground."

"Go, go, go!" Jackson chants, blazing a trail for us.

We don't talk much after that, which is nice; it lets me go on autopilot, walking beside True and enjoying the shade the small forest gives us. The trees are teaming with Pidgey and Pidgeotto, who leer down at us with gleaming eyes. One or two of them come down to dive-bomb us—but it only takes a few Embers from Jackson and a few Thundershocks from me to scatter them, and they leave with shouts of "Assholes!" and "Mind your own business!" I almost feel bad for them. I'm too sore and tired to really care.

The time passes amiably, as we pick a few berries to snack on through the walk. The trees break out eventually, to a brightly-colored field of wildflowers. I hear Minka take in a breath and have to chuckle. I turn to her, crossing my arms. "When was the last time you were out of Cerulean?" I ask the older Bulbasaur.

She looks to me with a soft smile. "A few weeks ago. But it's been a long time since I took this path and saw them from this side of the rise."

"Wait—the rise?"

"There's a slope to get down without jumping over," she laughs, and I sigh with relief.

Jackson and Clara lead the way through the flowers, charging despite Minka and True's protests; I trail close behind. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an old abandoned house in the distance. As the others push their way down, Minka trying to direct them to the easier path, I keep an eye on the building. We don't get close enough to see it close up, but the flowers come right up to the walls—I can see a few flowers winking between planks above the ground. Whatever the reason was, the house had been left behind a long time ago.

By the time we get down to level, flowerless ground, we all smell of flowers; I see Peter thread a dark-blue blossom in True's hair, and smile. I shake bits of debris from my fur as Minka gestures to a sign with two arrows. The one to the left reads UNDERGROUND — TO VERMILION; the other, pointing left and then up, reads TO SAFFRON. I can already see the tips of buildings poke out from the horizon, gleaming gold in the late-afternoon light.

I feel someone poke my arm, and turn to see a pair of happy yellow eyes. "S-Someday we'll go," Peter says. I just chuckle and nod.

We only have to walk for half an hour before we see the gate to Saffron, swarmed with workers in bright orange suits. Jackson starts to move toward them, but Minka pulls him back with a quick vine. "Leave them to work," she says. True narrows her eyes, staring for a good, long moment—but when Minka prods her with a vine, she sighs and nods.

The sky has only just started to darken by the time we see the entrance to the Underground: a short, sturdy looking building with long grasses. Beside the entrance is a stout, bald man, who lounges on a fold-out chair. Beside him is a massive Arcanine, who lays contentedly at the man's side as fingers brush through his long mane.

It's the Arcanine who notices us first, lifting his head and giving off a warning growl. The man lifts his head and chuckles; he straightens himself so that he can get a good look at us, but makes no attempt to get out of the chair. "Let me guess, you're trying to get to Vermilion?"

True nods. "This is where we can get through the tunnels, right?"

"Sure is," he says. "But I'll have to see some ID before I can let you pass."

The hairs along my spine bristle as Minka steps forward. "What's going on?"

The man doesn't seem to notice her; his eyes are narrowed, and set on True. "Rocket interference. Archie caught a few trying to use the tunnels, so me and a friend have been checking passerby. Don't want anyone doing anything funny, especially when the gate between Cerulean and Saffron is out of commission."

I look up to True, who has her hands balled into fists. "Do you know when the gate will open again?"

The Arcanine—Archie, I'm assuming—growls. "Not until next Saturday, at the earliest."

"Quick check of your ID and you can be on your way. Unless," the man says, pushing himself out of his chair, "you've got something to hide."

I turn a quick glance to the others, who stare back at me with confused looks on their faces. I don't blame them. So I look to True instead, who has her eyes shut tight. I turn to the man and Archie, sparking. "Just let us pass, we're not gonna—"

"No." Before I can say otherwise, True pulls her billfold out of her pants pocket. I can't do anything except watch as True pulls her ID out, handing it to the man with shaking hands.

He handles it for a moment, turning it this way and that (even biting it, as if that's supposed to prove it's real; what is it, a coin?) before looking back up at True. "Interesting name, girl. That sort of name popular in Pallet?"

"No," True answers, nice and short.

"Bet not," the man says. "Archie, sniff 'em down."

My stomach drops down to my feet.

The Arcanine stands up, just taller than True's chest. "Anything you want to declare, do it before I find it myself."

I hear feet coming toward us, but without turning toward them I shake my head. The shuffling stops, and I hear Peter shout, "We-We're not criminals!"

But True and I don't say a thing, only stand still as Archie sniffs each bit of us. His nose goes to me first, snuffling at my cheeks, my arms, my tail, my back—every bit he can get to. I have to stand still and take it. There's no flicker of flame between his teeth, his lips are closed tight, but oh Arceus it doesn't make it any better. I'm so clenched that I don't relax until he's done with True. Archie tugs at True's bag until she lets go of it; his slick nose digs deep, snuffling at everything inside. I take this chance to move closer to True's side, reaching up for her hand. She takes it and grabs my paw so tight that I have to push back the urge to yelp or shock her; I take the pain and stand still.

"All of your Pokémon out?" the man asks.

Shit. _Kerri._

After a tense moment, True pushes the button on Kerri's Pokéball, releasing a scowling Nidorina. "I thought I told you to n—hey!" She flinches from Archie's nose and growls, swiping—as though he's made of smoke, the Arcanine dodges. His every hair bristles as he growls; I see light burn in his mouth.

My heart drops to the floor. None of us has an advantage over a fire-type, let alone a pissed-off Arcanine. "Kerri, if you value your life, do—"

"We in the middle of a fight or something?" Kerri growls, going nose-to-nose with a snarling Archie. "Get the fuck out of here."

"He's alright," True says, though her hands are shaking so violently now I wonder if they'll ever stay still again. She turns to Kerri with wide, frightened eyes. "He's just making sure we're safe."

She looks between me and True, to the man and Archie, her ears lowering just a hair. "Safe from _what_?" Kerri growls. But finally, after I feel as though my heart is going to explode, she sits down and allows the Arcanine to sniff her over. The second he moves on, she turns to me and mouths, "What the _fuck_ did I miss?"

"Later," I mouth back.

It feels like days have passed instead of minutes. Jackson and Peter hold on tight to Minka, who stands perfectly still and erect, as though she's done this before. Finally ( _finally_ ) Archie finally pads back to his trainer, the hairs along his mane still bristling. "All clear as far as I could tell, Rich."

Rich gives us a final glance over before scoffing. "Still don't trust you."

Kerri looks as though she's about to murder someone, but it's Minka who speaks up. "We did as you asked, and you found nothing. Please, let us pass."

"Calm your Ponytas, I'm letting you pass," Rich scowls, crossing his heavily-muscled arms. "For now. But you're going with an escort, and you're going in the morning."

I'm not happy about it. Kerri echoes my thoughts with a well-aimed "Asshole!" but I turn my head to her by inches, shake my head.

For some strange reason, that only makes Rich chuckle. "If being an asshole's what it takes to keep this pass safe from Rockets, then yeah, I am. Now go get some sleep—and don't you dare try to go through the underground. I'll be here."

I tug at True's shaking hands and pull once, twice, but her body's dead weight; she just bows her head, gritting her teeth. My heart almost stops beating before it picks back up again, flying in my chest. Kerri snarls something, but I don't catch the words—I'm too focused on trying to pull True into a state of functionality. After a second she lifts her head, and turns to me—

And oh, Arceus, her eyes are blank.

With a growl, Kerri butts True's legs until she stumbles. That seems to get something into her; she lets herself be led until we're out of Rich and Archie's line of sight. There isn't much forestry on the main paths, but we find one powerful-looking oak to rest against.

Immediately True falls down, pulling her knees tight against her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. I start to move toward her, just like normal—but Jackson makes it before I do, patting her arm and rubbing up against it, like a pet Meowth.

It's stupid, because I'm not going to be reaching her right now, but as True wraps up the Charmander in her arms I can't help but feel stung.

I press against her side anyway, my fur brushing against skin; her shirt's traveled up, revealing red patches of skin. Sunburn? Rash? Either way, her mother would kill me if she ever found out.

Kerri, for once, doesn't come up to me—she just stares with frightened brown eyes, and it's such a strange expression that I have to look away. Peter comes to rest by True's foot, and Minka settles beside me. Kerri stays away, standing and turning her head. Half-lit by the moon, I can see her pricked ears and her unmoving body.

She's doing surveillance. Idiot.

I don't know when it is that we fall asleep, but I wake up to a nudge under a silvery moon and bright stars. My hazy eyes take a few moments to adjust, but I see Minka and Clara stare at me. "She's asleep," Minka says quietly, brushing the ground with her foot. "Come over here."

She doesn't need to say the words for me to know what she wants. Very slowly I pull myself away from True's side—she doesn't move an inch, doesn't even move. I make sure she's still breathing before following Minka and Clara to where Kerri still stands, half-lit in the night. I settle in the grass, watching warily as the others watch me.

Kerri only says one word: "Talk."

I chance another look at True and the others; Jackson's taillight makes a great signal flame, and Peter is still over there. As long as it doesn't move I figure we'll be safe. As though sensing my unease, Minka comes over to me and whispers, "We're far enough away," drawing my eye back to them. "Whatever it is that's going on, Casey... I think we deserve to know."

I bury my face in my hands. Sigh. Look up, and then look up at the sky. "What do you know about Team Rocket?"

Kerri bites a sharp, "Bunch of low-life thugs." Minka murmurs, "Criminals." Clara, as always, doesn't say anything, but I hear her feathers shake and can imagine she knows about as much as any of them.

"They're led by this... man. I don't know who he is," I say hastily, "so don't ask. They've been around for a long time, now. Seemed to crawl out of the ground without a warning. Promised glory and riches to anyone who joined up with them, and did what they wanted. You name any big-name crime—explosions, robberies, murder—chances are Team Rocket was involved."

"And the Elite Four hasn't been able to anything about them?" Minka asks.

I shake my head. "They've tried. They'll strike a blow to the organization, and they'll die down for a few months... maybe a year... but then they'll come back up, seemingly stronger than before. No one's ever been able to get to the heart of the matter, stomp them at the source. You could pass a whole group of Rockets and not even know it, until it's too late."

"That doesn't explain what True has to do with any of this," Kerri growls. "Unless you're telling me she's a member?"

I hesitate. Take a deep breath. "She's not. But her... about five years ago there was a mass arrest. Most of the elite personnel got away, but some of the lower admins and quite a few grunts got taken into custody."

"I remember hearing about that," Minka says. "A major theft at the new laboratory in Cinnabar. They were trying to steal... fossils?"

I don't remember what it was, exactly, but it had been important and valuable—just what Rockets went after. Kerri steps toward me, poking her nose into my stomach. "So they tried to steal a bunch of old rocks. You _still_ haven't explained what True has to do with—"

" _I'm trying!_ " I growl, electricity sparking from my cheeks. Kerri takes the hint and sits down, glaring at me. "It doesn't matter what they were doing. Every mugshot and name for every Rocket arrested at that scene was broadcast on national news. We got reports. True was almost eleven, and..."

I'd been with True that spring afternoon, when everything had been released—we'd been walking home after messing around by the river, soaking wet and carrying a bunch of berries. True had tried to open the door, only to find it locked; she'd had to bang on the door for five minutes before her mother had come out, eyes red and cheeks flushed.

"And the local media... they concentrated on one lower admin in particular. A long-time resident in Pallet Town. One of the few from this part of Kanto. They didn't say anything about his family, but... she looks just like him. They made the connection right away."

Clara turns her head back to True, who still hasn't made any sort of movement. Minka sighs, bowing her head. Kerri's silent for a long moment before shaking her head, her mouth agape. "So you're saying—?"

"That man was fussing so hard," I say softly, "because True's the daughter of a Rocket."


	21. Chapter Twenty

They don't ask any questions, though I know they want to. I fold my arms and look away from all of them, shutting myself away. I listen to them, instead—I hear the flutter of Clara's wings and the sound of Minka's heavy footsteps as they turn back to where the others are. But Kerri doesn't move. Any thought she has shows plain as day on her face, and it's in this way that she's able to really "ask" without asking. Part of me wants her to ask " _What sort of work does he do?_ " and " _What does this mean for us?_ " but they're things that I can't answer—ever since we'd found out, True would shut down at the mere mention of Team Rocket. Her mother was always slightly better, but I never interacted enough with her to know if she would have been willing to talk.

To be honest, I had never wanted to ask. They say that telling the truth is supposed to lighten you, that "Knowledge is power.". But I wonder, sometimes, if not knowing would have helped me more to be True's friend, and not just a Pokémon willing to listen to problems.

When I still don't talk, folding my arms and looking down at the ground, the Nidorina finally falls silent, sitting down in the grass with a frustrated sigh. Maybe half an hour has passed by the time I look up at her, just to see what she's doing. Her narrowed eyes are focused south, toward Saffron, and her ears are erect. With the color bleached out of her and her stiff posture, she looks all the world like a statue. It's unnerving—I'm used to seeing her lash out, kicking and slashing and screaming. I almost want to ask her about it, but decide against it; if I'm not willing to talk to her, there's no reason she would.

I stay at her side until the sky starts to lighten and the stars are just beginning to dim; that's when I turn away, without a word, to True and the others. I tromp through the grass and down the dirt path until I see them, still curled up in a cluster. Someone—probably Minka—has pulled out one of the blankets stored in True's backpack, draping it over her and Jackson. Clara is a little further away from the group, pecking at the ground for an early morning snack. Minka catches my eye and waves at me with her vine, before going off into the bushes. I see Peter just beginning to stretch, and chuckle. I wonder if either Clara or Minka woke him up to fill him in. Judging by the contented look on his face, I doubt it.

A twig snaps under my careless foot, and Peter looks up, whiskers twitching. He looks me over a few times before waving a hello, skittering off into the tall grasses to forage.

I dig through the backpack until I find the Pokédex, powering it on. It sings to life so loudly that True stirs; I try finding the volume switch—

" _CHARMANDER JACKSON IS LEVEL FOURTE—_ "

" _LOCATION IS ROU—_ "

" _PIKACHU CASEY KNOWS THU—_ "

This fucking thing is going to be the death of me. "I just want the fucking time!" I hiss. Pressing another button only gives me information on where we are in the same loud voice, which I don't want. "Stupid Oak and his fucking machines."

Long, pale fingers tug at the top of the Pokédex; I look up to see True looking at me with hazy green eyes. I let go and she holds it up, squinting under the harsh light. She presses a few buttons, and the Pokédex finally sings, " _TIME IS FIVE, TWENTY-SEVEN. DATE IS SUNDAY, MAY 18._ "

She closes the red machine with a click, and then—without disturbing the still-sleeping Jackson—turns to me. "What're you doing wif'at?" she slurs, rubbing her eyes.

I look down to see Jackson's red nose poking out of the blanket. He might be starting to wake up, but it won't be a while before he actually becomes conscious. "Trying to see what the time was," I say, rubbing my paw behind my head.

"Oh," she says. She stretches underneath the blanket, the toes of her shoes pushing past the bottom, and yawns. "Y're already gonna... be up?"

I hadn't felt tired when I was standing with Kerri; but now, with heavy eyelids and wooden limbs, I feel like I could take a nap and fall into a coma. I nod anyway, though, because she doesn't need to know I've been up half the night. Besides, what would I say?"No, I don't think so, since I blabbed your biggest secret to half the team last night"? I don't want to go into that conversation when she's only been awake for two minutes.

I don't want to go into that conversation at at _al_. "You can go back to sleep," I say instead, looking back toward the underground entrance. I doubt Rich and Archie are going to come and get us any time soon anyway; we can afford a few more hours.

True nods sleepily, and leans back against the tree with a sleepy yawn. I settle into the dirt and the grass and press myself against her, staring outward. The sky is shot with pink and yellow and pale blue, and the sun starts to glare into our eyes.

I don't know how much time has passed; maybe an hour, maybe two. I sneak in a few minutes of sleep every now and then, but always jerk myself awake, unable to really rest. I turn to her every once in a while, just to see if she's fallen back asleep or not—but her eyes only close for brief periods, and her breathing never really slows down. She's not saying anything, though; instead, she's looking at the rising sun with the same hazy eyes she's woken up with.

Do I ask her? Do I say anything at all? I open my mouth, hoping the right words will tumble out, but movement catches my eye. True's shaking her head without looking at me, and murmurs a quiet, "I don't want to talk about it."

I close my eyes and sigh, lowering my head back to my paws. "It was just one—"

"Any other day, Casey," she whines softly, pressing her cheek against the bark. "But right now... just stop."

So I do. I can't make her talk if she doesn't want to; she'll only let me in if she wants to, and if she's comfortable. I can only hope that she'll open up to the others... and never find out that I got to them, first.

Kerri comes back minutes later, with heavy steps and a worn look on her face; she seems content with herself, though, and I wonder if she had been able to get a bit of battling in before coming over here. I narrow my eyes, but she catches my glance and shakes her head. "Guess we didn't die last night," she says, sitting down by True's feet. "You sleep alright, Electric Man?"

I chuckle and nod. "What were you doing out there, anyway?"

"The usual," she shrugs, scratching her ear. "Beating up the bad guys, doing what you all should be."

"It wasn't _my_ fault that someone stuck me in a ball before all the hard stuff," she retorts, eyeing True with a stern glance. "How many times do I have to tell you, anyway? Don't do that again."

I'm expecting True to be short with her, too, but she just nods. After a moment, she pulls the blanket off of her, revealing a curled-up Jackson. He lifts his head with half-closed eyes, looking back and forth with a sleepy smile. "Mornin'?" he chirps, stretching in True's lap.

Kerri lifts her head with a chuckle. "Morning, short stuff."

The Charmander "hmm"s sleepily, sliding away from True onto the ground below. "Sleep good," he murmurs, stretching his arms above his head.

He looks it—the flame on his tail is burning brightly even in the morning light, and his scaly skin glints with red and orange. He's in better health than I would have expected from a kid who'd been found at the bottom of a mountain; I don't know if that's because he was raised wild, or if we've been doing better than I'd thought.

Clara flutters toward us with a satisfied expression on her face. Peter's hot on her tails, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The only one missing is...

Just when I notice her, I see Minka approaching from the corner of my eye. As she gets closer, I can see that she's woven some sort of basket from grasses and leaves and twigs. "How long were you out foraging?" I call out.

She places the basket down with a chuckle; Kerri and I peer inside to see berries and roots, with a few mushrooms and nuts thrown in. "Not long," she says. "I thought we should save your packaged goods for later, just in case the journey takes longer than we thought."

Jackson scrambles forward with a happy cry of "Food!" and lunges into the basket. Berries burst underneath him, and when he comes up he's absolutely covered in dark juice. I slap my hand against my face, and Kerri scowls; the others are laughing like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. Even Jackson starts to giggle, completely oblivious to the fact that he's wasted a huge portion of food.

"Maybe we should get him into the juicing business," Minka chuckles, picking him up with her vines. "I really don't want to waste any water getting him cleaned off—"

"No bath!" Jackson growls, crossing his arms against his chest.

"You don't want to look like _that_ all the time," Kerri sighs. The Nidorina hoists herself up off the ground, turns the Charmander around, and slams a pawful of dust onto his chest. "Rub it where the juice is, it should come off."

While Jackson is busy rubbing himself over, the rest of us who haven't eaten—which, at this point, is me and True—pick at Minka's offering. True gathers a few nuts, cracking the shells open by slamming them against the tree; I get a bit of berry juice on my paw, and lap it up, grinning at the sweet taste. Blackberry. Mm.

When everyone's eaten and (mostly) clean, True folds away the blanket and gathers everything up. She makes a movement to grab the balls from her belt and recall everyone, but when Kerri retorts with a sharp "Don't you dare" she stays her hand, nods, and shrugs the backpack onto her shoulder. "I guess we should, uh... get going."

I turn to Kerri and Minka, who nod solemnly. Peter scrambles on top of True's head, and Jackson charges forward, intent on playing leader. The walk back to the gate isn't a very long one, and since it's still fairly early in the morning I don't feel as though I'm dying in the heat.

Rich and Archie remain where they were; the man glares at us as we approach, shifting in his fold-out chair. "Get a good sleep?" he asks gruffly, refusing to make eye contact with True.

"Fine," I hear Kerri growl.

Rich gives a loud "hmph" before turning his head. "You'll find your escort past the door. Try not to piss her off."

True lowers her head, adjusts her backpack, and walks past him. Archie growls at her, exposing long, curled fangs; I have to pull and shock Kerri to keep her from fighting with the hostile Arcanine, and even then she's grumbling about "fucking dogs" and "trigger-happy mutt should be in a Pokéball."

The dark room isn't what I'm expecting—but then again, I'm not sure what I would have. There's a staircase that leads down to a pit of darkness. I shudder, looking back up at True. She doesn't seem nearly as frightened of the dark as she did of the man outside; I'll take that as sort-of progress, I guess. She breathes a deep sigh, as if to brace herself, before heading down the stairway. Jackson follows right at her heels, his tail providing a nice light for the rest of us to follow.

I still don't see the escort, and that worries me. Clara swoops down to my side, hovering above the steps; I hear Minka and Kerri behind me, their heavy steps booming in the cavernous underpass.

We get down to the bottom of the stairs. Everywhere I see is gray tile and brown brick, cold and worn. Dim lights glow from lamps that lead all the way down the tunnel, which should be comforting. It isn't; my skin crawls and the hairs along my arms raise. I'm usually not afraid of the dark, or of going underground, but I can't deny there's something fucking creepy about the whole thing.

That's when I hear them: heavy footsteps coming from behind us, separate from the staircase. A tall, intimidating shape emerges from the shadows, hidden from the stairs. As the large horned Pokémon comes into view, my stomach drops. The light catches her gray-brown skin, tough as rock, and her horn gleams, ending at a sharp point.

Her red eyes are narrowed, and she's sneering at us, as though we're a waste of her time. "Rich sent you all down here?" the Rhydon asks, her voice low and rough.

I grip the nearest thing—Minka's stubby tail, which makes her flinch—and close my eyes as True speaks with the monstrous Pokémon. "Are you... the escort?" she asks, her voice soft.

The Rhydon grunts. "We keep a steady pace," she says, not bothering to answer True's question. Judging by her demeanor, she has no need to. "I can get you out of here by nightfall. No funny business, no one gets hurt."

She looks strong—one flick of her powerful tail would probably snap my spine, and one blow from her fist would be enough to smash my head right open. No one says anything to contradict her; not even Kerri, who's looking the Rhydon up and down with an impressed expression on her face.

True nods, and the Rhydon grunts again. "Then let's get going."

There's no sign of life down in here, except for us. The lights flicker every so often, casting shadows that crawl and shake along the walls. I keep my head down, at first, to avoid looking at them; but when they creep onto the floor, grabbing at my feet and dancing in and out of vision, I just close my eyes and walk straight. Or I do, until I bump right into True's leg. She looks down with a confused expression on her face, but picks me up and places me on her shoulder. "Just so nobody trips," she says, like she's afraid I'll protest. I don't.

The floor is fairly level, with only a slight downward slope; I wonder how far down we are, but decide it's probably better to not know. Dull thuds echo in the tunnels; I can't tell where they're coming from, and start shaking. Our Rhydon guard, seeing me, chuckles. "Movement above-ground. It'll get a lot worse as the day goes on."

If I didn't know any better, I'd guess that she was enjoying herself.

We only stop a few times, to catch our breath and eat small meals. I'm not even the one walking and I'm exhausted. At one of the stops, True passes around a water bottle for us to sip at, and we drink greedily until there's only enough water left for a few sips. I nibble on crackers as Kerri, Jackson, and Clara tear into strips of dried meat. Minka's the only one who doesn't take anything, dismissing Jackson's repeated attempts to feed her with a soft, "I basked in the sun and ate berries on the way."

The Rhydon just stares at us, saying nothing.

We don't check the Pokédex during the breaks, just in case it tells us something we don't want to know. We keep walking until the shadows on the walls fade to normalcy, when the thundering noises overhead of Saffron passerby become as familiar as our own echoing footsteps. The others hop into their Pokéballs for periods of time, when they can't walk anymore; it goes unspoken that we want to get out of here as quickly as we can, with as few stops as possible. I just stay on True's shoulder, passing glances at the intimidating Rhydon behind us. She doesn't talk at all; she just follows us, staring at us, and it's so unnerving and creepy that I can't look at her.

When I feel as though we must have walked to the end of the world, the light brightens at the end of the tunnel. A spiraling staircase twirls up, held down by brick and mortar and adorned with silver handrails, almost glimmering. I don't remember the other staircase looking that ornate, but then again, I hadn't been paying that much attention.

"Head up there and walk south," the Rhydon says behind us, sweeping her tail against the tiled ground. "Should take you half a day to get to Vermilion, after you rest up."

I happen to glance up at the staircase, and nearly shock True when I see the shadow in the doorway. "Who've you got down there, Sed?" a high-pitched voice asks.

The Rhydon lifts her head. "Travelers from Cerulean, Lu. Don't need to look them over again, Archie was pretty thorough."

I hear something click, but the shadow disappears from sight. Sed shakes her head and turns around, facing back to where we had come from. "Anyway. Hopefully we don't see each other again."

I'm all for hightailing it out of this tunnel, but True turns around with narrowed eyes. "Do you ever leave here?" she asks.

Sed stops for a moment, scoffs, and continues walking. We both watch her leave until the darkness swallows her up and we can't see her anymore. I take in a deep breath of the musky air, look one last time at the flickering lights, and turn to True. Everyone except me is in their Pokéballs now, completely exhausted from the almost non-stop trek. True's almost shaking underneath me.

I jump off of True's shoulder as she shifts her feet, rolling her ankles and hissing. "We'll make camp just outside," I promise her.

After a long moment, as she stretches her back and lifts her arms up, True nods. "Let's get these stairs done first," she says, looking up to the doorway with weary eyes.

The winding staircase that leads to our escape is sturdy, standing firm under our weight. True takes the steps slowly, bracing herself on the railing. I don't go farther than three steps above her, matching her pace as closely as I can without getting underneath her feet. It's a long, tedious process, and True has to take several breaks to catch her breath and lean against the staircase. Once we're halfway up, True scrapes her knee against the stone wall badly enough to draw blood. She sits down as I try and find the bandages; my tail brushes against her belt, and with a flash of red Clara is released, the feathers along her neck bristling.

"I'm fine," True says, even as she continues bleeding.

But the Spearow won't have any of it, and squawks loudly. I press the bandage onto the wound, pushing hard enough to make her wince; Clara brushes me away to run the tips of her wings over True's knee, as if to say "good job, rest now." And we do, until True has caught her breath enough to stand up and finish the journey.

The three of us push past the doors, past a lanky woman with a Venomoth perched on her shoulder. She only gives us a nod and pushes a button, opening the door that spills out onto a dark Route Six. The half-moon is shining brilliantly in the sky, caught by large pools of water; wind rustles through the silvery-green grass, cooling us down.

I can't see any clouds, and Clara seems well enough at ease, fluffing out her feathers. We move to a small clearing inside a few sturdy-looking trees, making slow progress. Clara takes the backpack from True—to my surprise, she keeps airborne, confidently holding the heavy sack between her claws and beak, and holds onto it until True finally settles down on a dry patch of grass. Clara sets the bag down as I release everyone from their balls.

We set up camp quickly, pulling out blankets and the sleeping bag to make a somewhat-bed for all of us to share. Clara and Peter find sticks, and under my and Minka's direction ring the pile with stones. Jackson sets it aflame, creating a nice bonfire.

None of us are hungry enough to go and forage; instead, all of us stretch out in front of the blaze, enjoying the warmth and the cool air. Peter and Jackson wrestle on the ground, and we all watch. They've gotten faster and stronger in the short amount of time they've been together, but more than anything they've gotten to be pretty close. Clara jumps over to them and beats their heads playfully with her wings, and they're all laughing.

True is fast asleep long before the rest of us; we put out the fire with sand and well-aimed blows, covering the smoldering embers with a thick layer of dirt. Clara takes first watch, perched high above us on a tree branch, while the rest of us cluster around True. I feel Peter's ears brush against my back, and True's breath mingle on my face. It smells normal, if a bit sweet, and I breathe a sigh of relief before finally closing my eyes.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

We don't set out immediately after waking up. Two days of hauling ass had made us all lazy—we stretched in the sunshine, nibbled at scavenged berries and nuts. Even Jackson, who always seemed to have plenty of energy to burn, was content to lay on his back and point at funny-shaped clouds that drifted lazily across a blue sky.

It was relaxing. We hadn't had that in a while.

By the time we finally do pack everything up and clear away the fire ashes, clouds have started to cover the sun. No one complains about the slight dip in temperature, or the light breeze that tickles our backs—we're more satisfied by the wonderfully clear road that's marked out for us, paved flat by heavy foot traffic. Rushing through Route Five and underneath Saffron City has quickened our natural pace, but there isn't the sense of urgency we'd had beforehand now; it feels good, like we're getting somewhere, but we don't feel as though we have to rush to our next desination.

According to Sed, it only took half a day to get to Vermilion—the SS Anne doesn't even dock at the port until Thursday morning, and it's only Monday now. We could probably find every tree in the Route and still make it to Vermilion in time.

For the first half hour, we just walk; Peter and Jackson chase each other playfully, and Clara hovers above them, tickling them with her talons. Kerri, Minka, and I hang back with True, who's still trying to wake up. She isn't quite as sunburned as I had thought she might be—her face is still red, and patches of her creamy skin have definitely darkened. But even though she does seem tired, she doesn't seem upset.

The path slopes upward—it's nothing drastic, compared to what we've encountered before, but it's enough of a workout for me to start panting. It's Kerri who forges ahead this time, with Jackson hot on her heels, up and over the hill.

True and Minka and I aren't even halfway up before we hear Jackson shout delightfully. "Hurry up, someone's battling!" The three of us rush up to the top of the hill, giving us a perfect view of the action.

The stick-thin girl and the pudgy boy, with their confident stances and teasing words, are not what draw my eye; rather, it's the hovering Beedrill and the scurrying Sandshrew that draw me in, who are also playfully taunting the other. I turn to see everyone entirely focused on the battle—even True seems to be invested, her eyes bright and wide.

"I'm gonna win!" The boy's shout brings me back into the battle. He adjusts his straw hat on his head and, with a squeaky voice, shouts, "Clover, use Twineedle!"

"No way!" The girl opposite him holds up a challenging fist, shaking it violently. "Dodge the attacks, Sandy, and keep using Scratch!"

I watch as the massive Beedrill dives down toward the Sandshrew, who jumps away from the initial attack. The ground-type tries to turn on its foot, but falls clumsily onto the ground. Clover takes her chance and starts jabbing at the exposed underbelly. Sandy shrieks and pulls away, swiping her claws against the Beedrill's face.

Clover recoils, bringing her long barbs up to shield her gigantic eyes. Even from here I can see the blood dripping down the white appendages, and wince. Sandy isn't doing much better—she's curled around her stomach, which is also dribbling blood onto the ground.

"Are you okay, Sandy?" the girl cries out, pulling a purple bottle out of her bag.

The Sandshrew turns to her trainer and nods weakly.

"That's the way, Clover!" the boy shouts joyfully, punching the air like he's already won. "Just one more attack and we'll win!"

Clover removes her stingers from her face, still dripping with blood, and hisses threateningly. Like lightning, she closes the small distance between her and Sandy, jabbing furiously over and over and over again.

Even from here, I can hear the screaming.

A purple streak flies across my vision, and I look down in horror to see Peter racing toward the battle. Sandy is still curled in her ball, bleeding furiously, and even as the girl starts screaming Clover continues to jab at her opponent. Peter's already made it to the four of them before the rest of us can process the situation and start running—as we rush to them, I watch him jump up and take the Beedrill's neck in his fangs, biting down hard.

Clover lets out a shriek, but when Peter drops her she falls on top of the defeated Sandshrew, wings twitching.

"You ruined our battle!" the boy screeches furiously. "What'd you do that for, you stupid rat!"

I don't expect Peter to look up at the boy with such a furious face, but he does—and for a scrawny Rattata, he looks pretty intimidating. "Y-You were gonna ki-kill her!" Peter yells, his whiskers bristling.

The girl pulls Sandy out from the pile, jostling her for a reaction. I see her twitch her ears and sway her tail slightly—she's weak, but she's still alive. "I'm going to get you to the Center, don't worry sweetheart," the girl soothes.

"Either way, I won!" the boy growls. "So give me my money!"

I don't even think about what I'm doing; I can feel myself shaking, but rage pushes away my fears. I whip toward the boy with a snarl, my cheeks full of electricity. "You almost kill someone and all you want is  _money?_ "

"Yeah! So get out of my way!"

Peter comes to my side, still bristling, so that we make a barrier between the boy and the girl. Peter turns his head and gestures for the girl to leave. She wastes no time, sprinting from her place on the ground to Vermilion.

Clover lifts her head and hisses, but the boy sucks her back into her ball with a furious screech. "She wasn't even gonna die!"

With no Pokémon at his side, he's vulnerable—before anyone can make a move, True storms up to him, hand outstretched. I can almost feel the slap she gives him; he turns away with a yowl, cradling his cheek.

"Didn't your family tell you to never battle to the death?" she hisses, standing over him with a dark expression.

The boy snarls, pushing himself up off the ground. He doesn't even come up to her chest, but he's trying to make himself look intimidating with his wide stance and balled fists. "You don't get to interrupt a battle? Didn't your family ever tell you  _that?_ " he jeers.

"I get to interrupt a battle when you're almost about to kill someone's Pokémon!"

He starts to lunge at her, but by that time I'm at True's side, so full of electricity I feel like I might burst. "Save it for battles," I snarl.

The boy's snarl slips into a sadistic smile. "Then battle me."

I'm so angry that I almost accept the challenge myself—but it's Clara who screeches at the boy above us, her eyes dark. True looks up at the Spearow's determined expression and nods. "One on one, then. My Spearow against one of your Pokémon."

I can hear the frustrated growls of Kerri and Jackson—it's been so long since Kerri has been in a real battle, and Jackson hasn't even fought yet—but I look up to see Clara's confident smirk and sigh. "Let her fight," I murmur to them.

The boy backs up a few yards before plucking a Pokéball from his belt and throwing it. The red energy reforms almost immediately, materializing into a Butterfree.

"Doesn't look so tough," I hear Kerri mutter beside me.

Minka shakes her head. "You never know what tricks a Butterfree might have. They'll need to be careful."

Clara hovers just above the ground when True gives her the first command. "Start off with a Leer, Clara!"

"Victor, use Poisonpowder!" the boy cries.

I'm not an expert on Butterfree, but I had never thought one could move like Victor. Though Clara flies up, Victor circles around her faster than I can follow—with a screech he releases toxic purple spores that sink into Clara's skin. She screeches, unable to break free of the cloud—Victor, immune to his own attack, flies in and Tackles her out. Clara falls onto the ground with a thud and a moan, but just as quickly she pushes herself back up.

She doesn't even wait for True to give her a command—I watch as Clara arcs back up, slamming into the Butterfree with her beak. Victor falls for a moment, but rights himself just before he hits the ground and flutters up. He slams into Clara again, watching silently as she slams into the ground again.

"Your Spearow sucks," the boy taunts.

I watch True's face fall as Clara continues to lay on the ground. "Get up," she calls out weakly. "Clara, get up!"

With a growl, the Spearow pushes herself up. She's breathing heavily, and she looks as though she's about to collapse again—but she's up, she's alive. I turn my head just slightly to see Jackson and Peter gripping each other tightly, shaking nervously.

"Y-You gotta get up!" Peter calls out.

"You can do it!" Jackson shouts, his blue-green eyes wide with fear.

The Spearow turns to them, shaking, and smirks. She turns to the Butterfree, who's still flying above her, and screeches into the sky. Clara pushes herself up off the ground and flies to Victor—and then past him, straight into the sun. There's no way for any of us to see her with the glare of the afternoon light; True realizes this almost as soon as I do, and it's with a triumphant shout that she cries out, "Now, Clara! Fury Attack!"

There's no way for Victor to see where she's coming from, which means there's no way for him to dodge. Clara slams into the Butterfree beak-first, pecking and tearing until Victor finally crashes down to the ground. Clara lands on top of him, digging her talons into its wings—no matter how furiously the flying bug struggles, the Spearow won't let him up.

It's over.

She looks to the boy with a fierce expression on her face, and we follow. The bug catcher adjusts his hat, his face growing more and more red, before he finally pulls Victor's Pokéball out and recalls the Butterfree. "Whatever," he scoffs. He digs into his pocket and tosses out a few crumpled bills before brushing past us, heading north.

"Should we tell him he's going the wrong way?" Minka asks, chuckling.

Kerri scoffs. "Fuck that. Little punk deserves to get lost."

True pulls out an Antidote and begins to spray the panting Spearow, turning her back completely on the retreating challenger. But I watch the boy as he leaves—he trips down onto the ground and lays there for a little bit, before picking himself up and brushing his knees. I have half a mind to go over to him—maybe to fry his brains out for being such a damned  _idiot_ ], or maybe to see if I couldn't help him—

But at the sound of Jackson's startled shriek, I turn away from him to Clara, who has fallen onto the ground.

"True, what's happening to her?" the Charmander shouts. He's shaking like a leaf behind Clara, nudging her with his paws.

Even though the sun is shining, I can see the faint shimmers of light on her wings. It starts off slow, subtle, but before I can even react, the light intensifies into a brilliant white glow—it engulfs her, until every part of the Spearow is glowing.

My heart stops. "Everyone get back!" I shout.

Jackson only just gets out of the way before the light becomes too bright to stare at. I'm forced to look away, and then to put both paws over my eyes. Even when I close my eyes I can see it, from behind my eyelids and past my fingers.

It's only when the glow has faded that I look up to see her.

Clara has grown significantly in her evolution—even crouched on the ground, she could probably reach True's chest. She stretches her long neck out to the sky, clicking her drill-shaped beak experimentally. It gleams in the sunlight, almost like a sword. I watch with her as she examines her glossy feathers, her hooked claws, her massive tail feathers, before carefully moving towards her—when True tries to step forward, I hold a hand up and shake my head.

We don't know if she's safe.

"Killer birds," Kerri hisses behind me, and I scowl.

But I turn to the newly-evolved Fearow, making my movements as small as possible. "Clara?" I ask quietly. Clara whips toward me with piercing blue eyes, narrowed to slits. I can't do anything except stare at her, my cheeks sparking with electricity. She extends her neck to prod me with her beak; I stand there, despite my shaking body, as she pokes at me—but it's gentle, so gentle that I can hardly feel her touches. I look up to meet her eyes, prepared to stun her with a Thunder Wave or run away—

But she just laughs, pulls her head back, and crows triumphantly.

For some stupid reason, I start to laugh, deep down from my gut. "Tell us how you really feel," I tease, which only makes the Fearow wink.

Jackson and Peter are the first to rush up to the newly evolved Clara, jumping up and down like a couple of kids.

"That was so cool!"

"Y-You scared us!"

"But it was  _sooooo cool!_ " Jackson tugs at Clara's wing, lifting it up with gusto. "You're so big!"

"Just wait until I evolve!" Kerri yells, butting her head against Clara's side. Seeing Clara smack Kerri's head with one of her giant wings makes me laugh even harder, but it's Kerri's startled yelp that makes me lose my shit. Somehow that gets all of us laughing our heads off, which doesn't make any sense to me whatsoever. I don't care.

True comes forward with an extended hand; Clara pushes her head against it with a happy grunt. Standing up, neck bent, the Fearow is just a head shorter than her trainer. "This'll take some getting used to, huh?" True asks, scratching underneath the Fearow's beak.

Clara shrugs. True grins, brushing a finger against Clara's cheek.

After wiping some tears from my eyes, I look down the trail, past the glistening blue water of the lake to our right—it could be a trick of the light, but the dark moving figures ahead seem too alive to be shadows. Minka looks up as well, walking slightly ahead. "Do you think they're more trainers?" she asks.

"I'd be surprised if they weren't," I say.

Jackson giggles as he tugs Clara's wing. "You gotta show us how good you are again!" he says.

Peter nods excitedly. "Y-Yeah, or maybe—"

"Hold it," Kerri says, batting at Peter's head. "Give the girl some time to rest after evolving. It's not as easy as it looks, you know."

I narrow my eyes as I turn to Kerri, chuckling. "You just want a chance to battle again."

When she meets my eye she smirks, tossing her head up. "Maybe. But it's not like Clara would want to battle anyway. Right?"

Clara just shrugs. I narrow my eyes and sigh, muttering a soft "Whatever."

True blinks a few times, but shakes her head. "Well, if there  _are_  any trainers, I think it'd be a good idea to let everyone else battle, anyway. Sound good to everyone?"

Peter nods his head excitedly, and Jackson yells "Finally!" as he throws his arms up into the air. Minka just chuckles as she leads the way. I hear True murmur something, and hear the rustling of feathers under weight. I turn to see True looking up at me from the top of Clara's massive shoulders, waving.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Test-driving," she laughs. "Want a ride?"

Kerri might be a battle-hungry woman, but she's right about one thing: there is  _no_  way Clara is ready to fly herself around, never mind anyone else. "Might be best to call her back. You can 'test-drive' after she's rested."

True mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "party pooper" before sliding off of the Fearow's back. She plucks Clara's Pokéball from her belt, brushing the red headcrest before recalling Clara. "Get a good rest," she says, securing the ball onto the belt.

"After all that flying around, she's probably grateful for the rest," I say, as True falls into step with me.

"Voluntary," she counters, clasping her hands behind her head.

"We'll have plenty of time to train before the SS Anne arrives."

* * *

 

We get plenty of it before we even hit the city. Kerri and Jackson are more than enough of a match for most of the wild Pokémon—and the few young trainers that pass us by aren't any harder. There are no other incidents—we fight one-on-one until first blood, which comforts everyone on the team. The kids practically lose their shit watching Jackson and Kerri battle, even as their Pokémon lose their battles. Instead of giving us money, they accompany us to Vermilion City; True's as happy as anything, openly laughing as she answers questions about her journey so far. It makes me wonder if these kids are actually trainers, or if they're borrowing local Pokémon to play with.

The first impression we get of Vermilion is that it's  _busy_. No matter where you turn your head, there's always something to see or head. There's the chatter of townsfolk and tourists, the crackling of bread and the rolling of carts, the drunken songs pouring out of bars; and there's the smell of flowers, of flame, the crackle of electricity and buses and smoke.

But if you were to cut all of that out—if suddenly there wasn't a city, if the low-sitting buildings weren't there to bring in the hustle-and-bustle of life among thousands—there would still be the smell and the sound of the sea. Even though Vermilion was loud and busy, there was still always a hint of salt in the air, always the tugging of wave against shore in the gaps between words.

I can almost  _hear_  Minka falling in love with the sight of the water sparkling in the distance, turning red with the setting sun. I have to pull her away so that we wouldn't get separated from the others, who were following signs to the Pokémon Center—she follows my lead, but I knew it was grudgingly. We don't have to go very far, fortunately; we shoved against people clutching dresses and fine jewelry and bags filled to bursting with goods, until we stumble in front of the Center.

We don't catch a break from the crowds—if anything, the Pokémon Center seems even more crowded, with bodies pressing forward toward the front counter. We had to wait in line for one of the nurses to take us for a quick heal, and then get into another line to claim a room. True was able to persuade her way into one of the last rooms, to the dismay of the trainers in back of us. It was nothing special—there was hardly enough room to breathe in the red-draped room. But there was a bed and a bathroom and a closet, and for now we were thankful.

"We might not be able to all sleep outside here," True says with a sigh.

Clara makes no fuss about it, after peering her head in to see how small the room is; it's the downside of evolution, but she seems to be taking it rather well. Kerri is nowhere near as graceful about it, but—after Jackson promises to not miss her at nights, and Peter sucks up to her—consents to sleeping in her ball at nights. The room is definitely quieter without the two of them.

Everyone falls asleep relatively quickly, deciding to head out early the next morning to get in some training. True doesn't even undress, crawling under the covers and falling fast asleep. Jackson and Peter curl up together on one of the Pokémon beds; I settle at the edge of True's bed, closing my eyes.

I'm just about to fall asleep before I hear the doorknob turn. "Minka, we need to sleep," I murmur, blinking into the half-darkness.

"You can go to sleep without me," she whispers. "I'm just going to the piers. I'll be alright."

I look over to True, who seems to be in a deep enough sleep to leave her. "Wait," I sigh, jumping off of the bed to join her. "Give me a second to wake back up."

We slip out of the room silently, closing the door with a whisper. The lobby is no less busy than it was when we had first arrived. I mark the time at 9:15 as we move past the sliding doors. There seem to be less people around, at least, which is a relief. It means we don't have to push past as many people on our way to the piers.

Most of the shore is taken up by docks, but after a bit of searching we're able to find a small path that leads straight to the surf. We sit close enough so that the salt water nips at our toes—the cold water makes me shiver, but Minka just sighs happily, patting it as though it were a well-behaving pet.

"Are you doing alright with... everything?" I ask, sitting down on the sand.

"Everything?" she asks absently, moving the water around with her foot. "What do you mean by that?"

Well.  _Everything_. "It's been a rough couple of days, even by our standards. The next few days should be—"

"This is exactly where I want to be, and how I want to be doing it," Minka says. "There is nothing else I would rather be doing than taking this journey."

"That's not what I was trying to say—"

But Minka presses the tip of her vine against my mouth, shushing me. "Then perhaps you should just stop trying to talk."

She turns away to look at the last few bits of sun sinking under the horizon. I watch with her, until the color has bled out of the sky and the sea and everything that isn't touched by the gold streetlamps overhead turns to black.

"Do you miss being at Chester's?" I ask, laying my back against the sand.

She doesn't answer. I start to ask it again, in case she hasn't heard me, but before I can get it out she shakes her head. "I don't miss it, no. It was a way to occupy my time, but it was not what I wanted to do."

"What did you want to do?"

"Battle." She says it without any hesitation. "I'd tried to battle, but I never... I couldn't really get the hang of it. The children in Cerulean would practice battling with me when they were young, but..." She laughs, settling onto the ground. "Well, no one ever wants to start a journey with an old Bulbasaur when there are young ones spoiling for an adventure."

I close my eyes and sigh, turning back to the ocean. "How long were you in Cerulean?"

"Without a trainer?" When I nod, she chuckles. "Years. I've lost count of them, really."

"You had a job, though," I say, closing my eyes.

"It wasn't one I loved to do," she retorts. "I felt more like a hindrance than a help, sometimes. And it never interested me. I liked being around the other Pokémon, but... well, you must understand," she says, chuckling. "Being a Starter yourself."

I don't respond to that.

She sighs happily. "There is nothing better than seeing the world with friends." After a long moment, Minka pushes herself up off the ground, brushing off the sand that clings to her dry skin. "Well, I've had my fill for now. We wouldn't want the others to wake up without us being there, would we?"

Still silent, I stand up and start to walk back to the Center. Minka's vine rests on my shoulder, and I pause as she walks beside me. There's a kind glint in eyes as she murmurs, "Whatever the problem is, I'm sure it will work itself out in the end."

But I don't know what "the end" is. I don't know how we're going to get there, or  _if_  we're going to get there.

The walk back is silent, apart from the waves and the few idiots who walk alone at night. We walk into the Center to see trainers asleep on the floor and the seats, some with Pokémon curled around them. One of the Chanseys catches my eye and laughs. "Wish I could sleep anywhere like that," she chuckles, adjusting the hat on her head. "Did you need something?"

She lets us back into our room without any trouble at all. I breathe a sigh of relief to see that no one has moved. Minka slips into the other Pokémon-sized bed as I jump back onto True's bed, settling down into the comforter. True mumbles something in her sleep, but doesn't wake up. The room again falls into silence.

_"You must understand, being a Starter yourself."_

I don't sleep much that night.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

"But we only missed it by two minutes!"

The nurse threads his long fingers through his bright-pink hair, glaring at me with stormy blue eyes. "Two minutes is two minutes. I'm sorry, but free breakfast is closed."

True bends down to meet him, batting her eyelashes. I know she's _trying_ to play coy, but there's something just off about her smile to make it... well, fucking unnerving. "If you could just—"

"I'm sorry," he says again, more firmly this time, "but no. First of all, I'm not interested. And second, rules are rules."

"They're meant to be broken!" Kerri growls, her tail slashing behind her.

I think he might be cracking—I can see him grimace, and he's looking up to the ceiling as though asking for Arceus to come up with a perfect solution. "If I cut slack for every trainer with a pair of big eyes and their hungry Pokémon, this Center would be in more of a mess than it already is. Health care is already free. This city has plenty of shops. Go bug one of them if you can't pay here."

"Please, um." True pauses for a moment to look down at the nurse's chest. "Kevin. We've traveled a long way to get here, and—"

"Your food's fucking expensive!" Kerri interrupts. "Fifteen dollars for a burger that isn't even—"

I slap my tail against her mouth before she can say anything else damning, and lean down to Kerri's ear. "Not helping," I hiss.

But whatever progress we had made was lost now; with sinking realization, I watch as Kevin shakes his head, glaring at the Nidorina. "There are many local shops where you can find something to eat. I'm sorry," he says, and for a moment I think he's almost genuine. "But I'm just following protocol."

I don't why if expect True to fight harder, to make one last plea; but instead, she pushes herself up off the table with a sigh and a nod. "I understand," she says softly, rubbing her neck. "Thanks anyway."

"Asshole," Kerri mutters under her breath. I guess I should be thankful that it's quiet enough so that Kevin might not hear her. When I turn around to face the pink-haired nurse, he just shakes his head and gets back to work. Would he be more pissed off if he'd heard Kerri's words? I don't know. I don't care.

The others had been waiting for us on the couch opposite the main desk, keeping themselves entertained while we fought for our right to eat. It's Clara who notices us first, two feathers caught in her beak from preening. With a warning chirp, Minka and Jackson look up from their huddle; when the Bulbasaur catches my eye, I shake my head slightly. She sighs and murmurs something under her breath as Jackson races toward us.

"Food?" the Charmander chirps, his eyes big.

True shakes her head. "Not for free," she says, plucking the two feathers from Clara's beak. She twirls them between her fingers as she sighs. "There're supposed to be places to eat in the city, but..."

"We have to have _some_ money," Minka says, tilting her head.

"Some," True replies, sinking into the couch beside a still-drowzy Peter. "But I don't want to go through all of my money for things like food."

"So we're fucked," Kerri says.

"Well, anything's better than an overpriced burger split... seven ways," I say, looking around. That had taken some getting used to—part of me was still only used to a team without Jackson or Minka. "Look, we needed to look around the city anyway. If we ask some locals, I'd bet they could point us in the right direction."

"Yeah," Kerri scoffs, "or we'll get so turned around we'll be heading back to Cerulean."

True shrugs. "It's a plan, at least." As True starts to shake Peter awake, I turn to look around the lobby. There are fewer trainers here now, after breakfast, than there were last night—I guess they had probably gone off to train, or challenge the gym, or explore the city. Whatever it is they're doing, they're not here. "We might as well get to walking."

Between the seven of us, it becomes a chore to find a place that will serve both Pokémon and humans, while having a wide enough selection to satisfy all of us. By the time we find a deli that works for all of us, the sun has risen high in the sky. Despite the afternoon heat, I see several older men and women dressed in elegant suits and flared dresses.

Jackson, Clara, and I claim a table that overlooks a construction area, while the others go in to order the food. Clara manages to entertain Jackson by playfully poking at him with her long beak—this leaves me to watch the passerby. Most of them carry packages of some sort—big, square things, either tied with ribbon or wrapped in paper—in their embraces; almost all of them walk together in pairs or groups. Heads are bowed together, and fingers points to extravagant displays of tuxes and dresses.

"The hell is with the fashion in this city," I mutter. I turn to Jackson, who by now is on the ground and kicking out playfully as Clara tickles him with one feather-light foot, and chuckle. "Careful, you two."

"We a—aaaaaha!" Jackson giggles. Clara just smirks at me, like I'm a moron for even suggesting she wouldn't be careful.

I shift on the table and laugh, laying down against the flat surface. "You're missing quite a show, you know," I start to say—but by then the two of them are too wrapped up in their game to give a shit about anything I have to say. Jackson squeaks again with surprise, but I don't turn toward him, thinking it's just him being playful again.

It's only when I feel the table rock that I turn—and by then I'm met with a pair of familiar, brown eyes, and immediately my ears jolt up with surprise.

"You need to stop staring at people," Cassidy teases. "It could get you in trouble."

I can't stop the surprised laugh that bubbles up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

But when I look up to see the two trainers staring at us, I know. Holding a bag of food in his hand, Gary pushes through the door seconds before True, who has multiple sandwiches wrapped up in white paper. Behind her, I see the rest of the team slip outside, standing around Gary and True with varying expressions: Kerri doesn't seem happy in the slightest; Minka's looking up at us with a delighted expression on her face; and Peter... he's just staring at all of the food with quivering whiskers and absolute hunger on his face. For all he cared, there was nothing amiss.

"Gary, would it be alright if we ate with them?" Cassidy asks, her ears perked up.

He doesn't answer at first, instead looking at True with an uneasy expression. "I don't know, Cass. You know we're on a schedule."

"It's lunch, Gary," True sighs, setting her sandwiches down on the table. "We don't even have to sit by each other. Just push two tables together and we'll be set."

"Well—"

But by now Clara and Jackson have noticed what's going on; Clara moves to make room as Jackson sniffs at Gary's leg. "You smell funny."

That's enough to make True laugh, but Gary takes a few steps back, surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you smell _funny_ ," Jackson says matter-of-fact. " _Duh_."

By now, even Cassidy is laughing. Her tail brushes against my back, and I look toward her—but her eyes are all on Gary as she asks, in a voice I know too well, "Just one meal?"

And, just like I knew he would, the boy relents. "Fine. But you two need to get off the table, I need room for all this."

Cassidy and I jump down off of the table—by that time, Gary has released his team. I recognize the Spearow and Sandshrew from our battle in Cerulean, but the sharp-faced Abra is a stranger to me. She blinks up with hazy gray eyes, but immediately squeezes them shut.

"Uh," I start, raising a hesitant paw up in greeting. "Hi."

I'm met with stares. The Spearow mutters something to himself that I can't hear, and jumps up and out of sight to sit on Gary's shoulder. The Sandshrew is a bit more welcoming—he at least waves back before going to grab his lunch, nibbling on toasted bread with gusto.

"Don't mind them," Cassidy says. "Jet's still sore that he lost to you guys the last time, and Sheldon's just hungry."

"And the Abra?" I ask, gesturing to the curled Pokémon.

Cassidy shrugs. "A little anti-social, I guess. Michaela's alright, though. Aren't you?" she asks.

The Abra lifts her pointed chin towards us. <<Sleepy.>>

The voice in my head startles me so badly that I shoot up, knocking my arm against the table stand. It starts to sway above me, but stops immediately.

True and Gary look down underneath the table with a mixture of concern and amusement on their faces. "Everything alright down there?" True asks.

"Michaela talked to Casey for the first time," Sheldon snickers.

"He's fine," Gary says to a startled True, "just scared. Eat your sandwich before your rat gets at it."

Food is distributed and we gather in our own social groups. For the most part, the teams stay with each other; but Jackson, Minka, and Sheldon join me and Cassidy—something that I hadn't expected—and sit in a ring away from the table as we dig into our lunches. There isn't much talking as we chew on our food, or even afterward. Minka sits back and soaks up some sun, leaving most of her food untouched; it's enough to tempt Jackson and Sheldon into nipping at the leftovers, and soon they get to playing.

"So how long have you been here?" Cassidy asks, nibbling on some bread and apple slices.

I tear at a cheese sandwich, taking my time to swallow. "Just a night. You?"

"Few days. We've been trying to get some training in before the SS Anne comes in."

"Are you going?" Minka asks, smiling.

But Cassidy shakes her head, looking a little disappointed. "We couldn't get a ticket. Gary was really happy about it, said he didn't like wearing—"

"What do you  _mean_ ," True asks, "that it's formal?"

Each head on the ground looks up.

"Well, yeah!" Gary says, backing his chair up by inches. "What did you think this was, a floating shopping mall?"

"I didn't know what I thought!" True groans. "I didn't expect this to be anything fancy, or I never would have said yes!"

"The hell—how'd you even get your ticket anyway?" Gary asks.

"Crazy gym leader," Jackson says simply.

"How do you even _know_ what the dress attire is?" I ask, getting up on the table and grabbing True's hand. She grips on tight and doesn't move, but with a few soft words I encourage her to at least sit on the end of her chair.

"Grandpa used to take me and Daisy when we were little," Gary says, almost smug. "Daisy and I would get new matching outfits that itched, and he got to see all of his stuffy research friends. And then Daisy and I would sneak out to see some of the Elite Four members, 'cause they always com—"

"There are going to be _Elite Four_ members there?!" she shrieks. "I-I don't have the money to get anything fancy—and the ship's coming on _Thursday_ , and—"

"Just... calm down!" Gary says, putting his hands up. "It's not that big of a deal, and—"

"Don't you dare tell me it's not a big deal," True growls. "This is... _fuck_."

I swear to Arceus every head assembled turns. Gary laughs, a bit surprised. "What'd you expect? It's an annual gathering of the elite trainers in the region. Anybody who's  _anybody_ is going to be there."

"Kindly shut up," I growl, as I jump up to sit beside True's bowed head. "I saw a bunch of shops in this part of town selling dresses. "We just something... good."

"I don't know when it was you last shopped for dresses," True moans underneath her cloud of hair, "but they're expensive."

"Well," Minka says, "does it have to be a—"

"Please don't finish that sentence." True makes a motion to grab for her wallet, but I manage to stop her with a quick grab at her finger. I pull both hands in front of her and make a show of breathing slowly. I watch with relief as she slows her breathing down to a more normal rate.

"The hell is a dress and why would you want one," Kerri growls, as bits of food fall out of her mouth between bites.

"They're things that humans wear to formal events," Cassidy says. "Girls and women, mostly."

"So True'll look different?" Jackson asks, pushing against True's leg.

"If I can find one," True moans.

"Who's to say you even have to go?" Gary asks.

"I'm going to go," True sighs. She picks her head up off the table and glares. "There's just... there has to be something around here. And besides..." She takes a deep breath. "Besides, how hard can it be to find a dress in a city this big?"

I let go of the breath I've been holding and turn to Cassidy, who nods, and chuckle. With a smile, I push the hair out of True's face, catching her eye. "Finish your sandwich."

It takes a little bit of time for her to finish; we're all done by the time True has taken the last bite. Gary recalls his team, securing the balls on the brown belt around his waist, and sighs. "Well, I guess—"

"They don't know where any of the shops are," Cassidy says. "Perhaps... we could go with them?"

True looks down at the ground as she gathers her backpack; my eyes are on Gary, though, who looks the other way. "We have a lot of training to do before Wednesday, Cass. We're already behind."

"What's Wednesday?" Jackson asks.

"A day of the week?" Gary retorts.

"I knew that!" Jackson answers, brow furrowing over his eyes. "What're you doing Wednesday?"

"Gym battle," Gary says. He quickly gathers the trash and leftovers from his team, tossing them into the trashcan near the front door. "Sheldon needs work on his attacks, and he's my ace. Cassidy, you're back-up."

The Eevee sighs, but she nods. "Alright." She brushes my chin with the tip of her tail and smiles, mouthing "Goodbye" before jumping off of the table. "We'll come to see you off!" she promises.

"Yeah," I say weakly.

She turns to follow Gary, walking side-by-side with him. I watch until they slip out of sight, blending in with the crowd of hurried passerby. I hear snickering behind me, and turn with an awkward grin to general amusement. Kerri just scowls and shakes her head, telling me to "Stop making goo-goo eyes with your girlfriend and come on." I can't even really say anything though; I jump off of the table and shake myself out.

True's still looking uneasy as she throws away her own trash and resets the tables and chairs. To my surprise, though, it's Kerri who pushes her nose against True's hand, helping to place the chairs just right. "Well, looks like we've got a... dress, thing. To get. So let's go get it."

True looks down at us with a grin so faint I can hardly see it—but it's there, and that's enough for me right now.

It becomes immediately clear, however, that not all of us will be seeing the journey firsthand. Whether it's for size or danger or plain discrimination, only Minka and I are allowed in to the shops to assist True. It infuriates Kerri and Clara, and it confuses Jackson and Peter; but even though they're not happy with the decision, they don't fight being recalled into their balls. True makes a show of attaching them to her belt and locking them—"Don't want any surprises," a bug-eyed clerk says—before she's allowed to browse the selections.

She tries them on in front of us, and... well, none of them work. The ones that look good on the hanger don't fit her right, and the ones that _do_  don't look good on her. They pinch at her arms too much, or they don't let her breathe, or they show off a part of her body she doesn't like, or they aren't the right color—there's always something that pushes her away from a dress. We must try on ten different dresses in the first store before True puts her own clothes back on, walking out without so much as a "Thanks."

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

We hit three stores before True starts to call it quits. The streetlights are starting to flicker on, the sky is already getting dark, we're all exhausted, and True is more disgruntled than ever. With a groan, True collapses on one of the nearby benches, holding her head in her hands.

I have no idea what to do. There wasn't really a big need to wear something as grand as a dress in Pallet Town, or even in Viridian; and even if there were, True was usually the last person who wanted to go to them. She was the kind of girl who liked loose pants and plain, form-fitting shirts that could stand a lot of wearing and tearing. Nothing like this.

"There were a few tops back at that one store that looked nice," Minka suggests softly. "We could get those and a nice pair of pants?"

It surprises me how much Minka knows about all of this stuff. But I'm glad; she's been able to steer True in some sort of a direction, at least, which is more than I've been able to do. If it had been just me and True... well, it wouldn't have been pretty.

"Guess that's all we can do," True sighs, resting her head against the wall.

"Excuse me."

The three of us look up to see a kind-faced brown girl, not much older than True, looking down at us, a Pidgey perched on her shoulder. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I was wondering if I could be of some assistance."

True doesn't say anything, looking over the stranger with scrutinizing eyes. It's Minka who responds to the woman instead. "That's very nice, ma'am, but I don't think—"

"You're going on the SS Anne?" she asks, leaning down to catch True's eye. Hesitantly, True nods. "And you haven't found an outfit that's comfortable?" Another nod.

"We've got a shop down the way that's in need of some advertising," the Pidgey says. "You could come and check out our stock?"

"Isn't everything closed by now?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

But the Pidgey just chuckles, nibbling at the ends of his feathers. "Not if you're with the shop keeper."

"Neither of us have anything to lose for just trying," the woman says, adjusting her beaded bag on her shoulder. "It's not that far of a walk, if you're up for it?"

It's probably not the best idea to have all of us staring at her, but that's what we do. With a sigh, True lifts herself from the bench and nods. "Sure, I guess."

"Wonderful! Preston," she says, holding up a bright gold key, "go unlock the store and turn the lights on, will you?" As Preston takes the key into his beak, the woman looks over True one last time and says, "Get out the new project."

"Yess'm," the bird says, before flying off.

"We'd best be going, then," our new companion says, taking True's pale hand into her darker one. "Preston's not exactly patient. A good worker, of course, but very punctual. I'd never get anywhere if it wasn't for him in my ear all the time."

True doesn't say anything—instead, she lets herself be led by the hand. I try to jump onto True's shoulder, but Minka's vine keeps me a good ten feet behind them. "Let them talk," Minka chuckles. "It won't do any good to have us breathing down their necks."

So we follow them, to a plain-looking shop. It's not very big, and certainly not the shop that draws the eye: low-sitting, with painted-white brick and a peeling blue door. "SHERRI'S" is written in blue on a sign above the door, and the store's one narrow window displays two simple dresses—

No.

As the girl—who I'm assuming is Sherri—leads True in, I step closer to the display. The cut is simple enough, sure, but even on the busty mannequin it looks flattering. It takes a bit of squinting, but when the lights behind the dress come on I see faded colors. It's simple, sure, with few adornments... but it looks good.

"I think we've found it," Minka says delightedly.

I don't say anything, but I'm smiling. The two of us walk into the store, adorned with a few flowers and lined with what looks like driftwood. Preston is perched on a railing above our heads, looking down at us with flashing green eyes. "Not much, but we just got started a few weeks ago. Sherri's been hard at work getting some stuff inside the store."

"Yeah, now I just need to fix the outside," Sherri sighs. "Inside was hard enough."

"It's really nice," True says, looking around. I follow her eyes to the selections of tops and pants, and stop just as her eyes hit on a dark dress hiding in shadow.

Sherri's been watching too, because she smiles brightly. "That's a new one," Sherri says, from the corner of the store. She pulls back a curtain that opens to a small enclosure. "Soft enough material, but it should be pretty sturdy. Do, uh... You want to try it on?"

Silently, almost hesitant, True picks up the dark dress and slips into the small room. She closes the gray-blue curtain with the start of a smile, disappearing from view.

Sherri turns to us with her arms folded over her white top, a grin on her face. "So what brings you to Vermilion?"

I furrow my brow; she _knows_ we're here for the SS Anne. "We got a ticket from the gym leader in Cerulean—"

"Ha! I told you, Preston, soon as I saw her with the Bulbasaur and Pikachu," she says to the Pidgey perched on one of the rafters.

"Yes, yes," he says, and goes back to preening his wing feathers.

"So you're a trainer's team!" Sherri says, sitting down on the tiled floor in front of Minka and I. "That's so cool! Are you doing the gym challenge and everything?"

Minka nods. "It's been very exciting so far. True's managed to get two badges already."

"You know that there's a gym here, right?" Sherri calls out.

Though it's a little muffled, True responds. "Yeah, a... friend is challenging it on Wednesday."

"It sucks that Surge won't let in spectators," Sherri sighs. "I don't know why, he'd make a ton of money on it."

"Do a lot of gyms let people watch?" I ask.

"They don't broadcast them on the television like they do the Elite Four matches, but yeah! I watched my brother go up against Koga, and he has this sort of... Preston, how would you describe it?"

"An obstacle course."

"No, it's not that intense. More like... a maze!"

No televised matches will mean that I have to wait by the phone to hear of True's progress, or rely on her mother. Or get a video camera on her. I listen to Minka and Sherri trade tidbits of information, but for the most part I'm concentrated on the shuffling curtain and—

"Oh, my," Minka breathes.

True's hair is a mess from gripping at it with her fingers, and she has a serious case of trainer's tan... but it's a nice dress. Simple, like the rest of Sherri's collection, the dark blue fabric seems to shimmer with every move True makes. It's dark against her skin, and striking with her hair.

"Does it... look alright?" True asks, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand.

Sherri can hardly push herself off the floor, she's smiling so big. "It looks... really, really good. But do _you_  feel good in it?"

"I... yeah. I think I do. It's a little... loose around the chest?"

Sherri steps behind True and tugs at something. The shiny blue-white jewel glints in the light, drawing my eye away from True's surprised expression. "Just have to tie this sash around... and there. You'll be catching the eye of a lot of people, I think."

"Thank you," True breathes. "Uh, how much—"

"You tell anyone who asks where you got this from? Free of charge."

"No way!" True shouts, moving away so fast that the sashes fly straight up before fluttering down. "You... you need to get _something_ out of this, I can't just—"

"Then let's do this," Sherri says, a good-natured gleam in her eye. "Can you keep your clothes clean?"

What kind of question is that? "Of course she can," I growl, even as True shakes her head furiously at me to stop.

"Here's what we'll do. You wear the dress to the party. You tell them where you got it if anybody asks. And when you're done, just bring it back."

"What's... what's to stop me from just taking it?" True says, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

"I don't think you'd do anything like that," Sherri says, genuinely surprised. "You seem really nice, and I trust you."

I hear Minka's intake of breath and feel my heart stop. True presses her hands against her mouth, biting back tears, and nods.

"Thank you," I say to Sherri, so that True doesn't have to.

But the shopkeeper's warm eyes are all for the girl trying to hold herself together, and she smiles. Minka goes to guide True back into the room, to change out of the dress and into her own clothes, leaving me with Sherri and Preston. I can hear the older Bulbasaur saying something, but I can't make out the words; instead, I turn to to Sherri, who's still looking at the curtain.

"You sure you don't want anything of ours?" I ask.

"We said don't worry about it," Preston says from his perch. "Get some training in and impress all those trainers, m'kay?"

That's something that I can do. It will be the last thing I do for them, before I'm back to my old life.

That can't be something I can screw up.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

"So when are we supposed to be there?" True calls from the bathroom.

I'm holding the ticket to the light, inspecting it closely. "Looks like you can board as early as ten."

"Why are we even getting on this boat?" Kerri asks, lounging in her bed. "It's not like it's taking off."

"It's a chance to meet many trainers," Minka chastises. "Powerful ones. Gym Leaders from other regions, and even Elite Four members..."

"Quiet," I say, looking toward the bathroom. In a lowered voice, I say, "She's nervous enough as is."

Kerri scoffs. "Then she shouldn't have said she'd go."

She's right, but that doesn't mean I have to let her know that. I hear Peter's nails skitter against the tiled floor in the bathroom and Jackson's soft "So what's _this_ do?" and can only imagine what sort of powders he's getting himself into.

I've almost gone back to sleep by the time True slips out of the bathroom, still pulling at a few curled locks of hair and tucking them in place. Her eyes look huge, all done up and painted and pulled—it only helps her look more nervous, amazingly so, as she slips into her tennis shoes—Minka had tried desperately to encourage her into a pair of fancier shoes, but True and I had won; it was better to be able to walk than to look good—but she looks good. She looks _good_ , and I can't help but smile.

"Now isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever seen," Minka marvels, as Clara nods encouragingly.

She smiles hesitantly as she pulls herself up and turns her back to us. "Could you—?"

Without a word Minka extends her vines and ties the sash into an elegant bow. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?" I ask, taken aback.

"You find all kinds in Cerulean," she says simply, patting True's back to signal that she's done.

True shoulders on her backpack, mostly cleaned of dirt stains and packed only with essentials, and leads all of us out into the hallway. We get a lot of stares and more than a couple of whistles, which make True blush enough to match her hair; I only have to start sparking to make most of them look the other way. At least by the time we leave the Center, there are plenty of other fancy-dressed women and men heading to the harbor. We blend right in to the crowd of people, pushing forward when we have to. Eventually it gets to the point where we're bustled about so much that True starts to recall everyone into their Pokéballs. Kerri adamantly refuses to get inside, claiming that "I've been pushed back in that thing for all of the fun stuff. I'm staying out."

She makes it easier to push everyone out of the way. The SS Anne stands regally in the distance, gleaming a pearly white under the sun. All around us, we hear excited whispers and drunken singing—seriously, who gets drunk before noon?—and make our way to the ship as quickly as possible.

We don't see any sign of Gary or Cassidy in the mob.

There is no main building separating the city from the SS Anne, only a couple of guards who check tickets where the main street meets the pier. The line is long, but moves quickly, which leaves us little time to stare at everyone aboard. We do catch a few bits of information, though, from rich-talking people twirling rich-looking objects: that the SS Anne was the crown jewel of its fleet; that this was the last stop before a long, worldwide tour; that the newly-crowned Champion of the Hoenn region, some Steven Stone, was rumored to be on board. The heat from the boardwalk takes up more of my concentration, though, and it gets to the point where I have to hop onto Kerri to save my feet. I'm careful to avoid her long, poisonous spines as she chuckles, flicking her large ears in my face.

"Ticket, please," the navy-clad guard says.

True shows her ticket; the guard takes it in his slender hands and inspects it with a quiet nod. "Very good. Your ticket, miss," he says—and then, without a word, hands us a disk. True doesn't even have time to ask what it's for before the guard says, "Complementary TM. I believe that one is Dig."

"Mine," Kerri says, eying the disk that True puts into a slot in her backpack.

"Can you even _learn_ that move?" I whisper in her ear. She scowls and shrugs, pushing me dangerously close to one of her spines.

"Proceed, and enjoy your stay," the guard says.

True hardly gets to thank the guard before she's pushed past him by a pair of enthusiastic boys. It startles her, but I brush myself against her exposed leg, and that's enough to calm her down.

The SS Anne is even bigger up close than it had seemed from the back of the line, towering high above our heads. Even from the bottom of the staircase that leads up to the boat, we can hear the loud booming of live music and excited chatter of the trainers already on board.

"Sounds like a lot of people," Kerri remarks.

"Yeah," True and I say weakly.

The sounds only grow more intense as we make our way onto the main deck. Tall men in suits mingle amiably with girls in skin-tight dresses, holding glasses of bubbly liquid in their hands. I jump off of Kerri's back and land on the wooden deck—and almost slip, the floor is so polished and waxy. Kerri grabs my tail with her mouth and steadies me. "Act like you know what you're doing, asshole," the Nidorina scoffs.

"And _you_ know what you're doing?" I counter, trying to divert her attention.

"For being a coddled lab rat your entire life," she starts, but she stops when True brushes a shaking hand against the tips of her ears.

"Can we have one day of no fighting," True asks, furrowing her brow. "Please?"

Kerri and I give each other one long look before nodding. We have to be able to spend a few hours without fighting, right? "You just have to not embarrass me," Kerri whispers, complete with a sly grin.

I'd throttle her, but I don't feel like breaking a seconds-old truce.

True releases the rest of the team in four flashes of light. Only Clara is silent among the chorus of "Oh wow"s and "Lookit _that!_ "s, but her blue eyes widen considerably at the polished floors and well-dressed trainers.

"I feel under-dressed," Minka murmurs, brushing her bulb off with a light touch of her vines.

"That guy's got a funny hat!" Jackson announces, pointing to a man a fair distance away. The hat is absolutely covered in flowers, all violently-bright shades of pink and blue and purple and green. It's a real eye-sore, and I grimace.

Peter's looking around, standing on the tips of his toes with whiskers twitching. "W-Wonder if there's any food," he muses, spittle dribbling at his lips.

"We just ate," True chastises, even as she smiles.

"N-Not a lot, though," the Rattata says, a hopeful grin on his face.

I roll my eyes with a chuckle. "A boat this big should mean a ton of food. Let's start searching."

We weren't the first ones on the boat, but on a ship as big as the SS Anne, I feel as though there's too much room to roam around. As we keep walking around, I see more and more people in well-tailored outfits joking good-naturedly to each other. Most of them have their Pokémon contained in their balls, displayed on belts and necklaces and even bracelets—but I do see Pokémon padding alongside their trainers, eyes flashing and pelts gleaming in the sunlight.

A red-headed waiter comes up to us with a platter of pale, bubbly drinks, flashing us a smile and bowing slightly to us. "A drink for the beautiful woman?"

True's taken aback, her eyebrows drawing tightly together. It's me who answers the moustached man with a sharp "She's sixteen."

The waiter looks at me, arching his brow. "Yes? And?"

"She doesn't drink."

It takes him a few moments, but when he gets it, the man just laughs. "No, no, you misunderstand," he says with a grin, "this is only sparkling cider. Unless the lady—"

True takes one glass decisively, with a grin that actually manages to look coy. "This will be enough. Thank you."

"Uh—Do you know wh-where the food is?" Peter asks, tugging at the man's pant leg.

"Food? Oh, yes, it's inside there." With the hand not supporting the silver plate of sparkling cider, he points to a set of doors just a little ways away. "A plentiful buffet for trainers and Pokémon alike. Many rare delicacies from across many regions."

Peter doesn't need to be told twice—the Rattata practically runs for the gleaming double doors. Breathlessly, we thank the waiter with a hurried "Thank you!" and follow him.

The waiter wasn't kidding when he said the buffet was "plentiful." The table practically runs from one end of the huge room to the other, featuring bowls and plates and platters of foods I don't have names for. The second we bust through the double doors, the smells assault us. I have to stop myself from drooling; Kerri doesn't even bother, looking at the display of edible goods with... well, hunger.

We're able to get to Peter before he makes a spectacle of himself—Clara grabs onto his tail before he can jump onto the table and start stuffing his cheeks. He squeaks and whines as the Fearow takes his tail in her beak, biting down with just enough pressure to keep the Rattata in his place.

"There's plenty of food for everyone," I hear Minka say beside me. Out of the corner of my eye I see True look for plates, as Jackson tries to lift himself high enough to see for himself what fantastic treats await them.

But my eye isn't on them.

On the other side of the room, I see a woman glaring at us. Her glossy black hair is pulled up and away from her face, with no lock tucked out of place. Her bright-red lips are puckered with distaste, and her red nails drum against her pale arms. She only looks away when a muscular man, dressed in black slacks and a weathered-looking white shirt, comes up to her and murmurs something into her ear. I watch them walk away, their hands limp beside them, and—

"Casey, you're gonna miss your food!" Jackson chirps into my ear. I start and turn to him, about to protest, but he interrupts me with a giggle. "Peter and I're gonna have a food eating contest, you gotta see!"

When I turn back to see the two strangers, they've disappeared.

The ensuing eating contest is pretty funny, I have to admit—even if they're making us look like fools. A few trainers come up to mingle with True, who looks just as comfortable as a Vulpix in the middle of the ocean, but for the most part the crowds are looking on at Peter and Jackson. They shovel food into their mouths with a fury, as though they haven't eaten in weeks. With each bite of chocolate-dipped bread and fancy pasta and exotic fruit, I can't help but wonder how they even manage to have enough room in their stomachs to keep everything down.

"So what level is your Charmander?" a Pidgey-faced boy asks, his beady eyes twinkling.

"I'm not sure," True says, looking down just in time to see Jackson try and shove a meatball thicker than his head inside his mouth. "I mean, I have my Pokédex and everything, but—"

"A Pokédex?" the boy repeats. "Where'd you find one of those?"

True doesn't answer right away, but she murmurs a quiet, "From a friend," before turning away.

The boy looks stunned for a moment, before finally shaking his head. "Uh, cool. Anyway, I was asking because he looked pretty strong. I was wondering if you wanted to battle?"

Jackson had been blissfully unaware of the commotion going on around him—but at the boy's request, the Charmander shoots up from his place on the carpeted ground and starts bouncing up and down. "Can I battle, True, can I can I?"

True looks around at the several trainers who have stopped eating to look at us, their eyes gleaming. "I don't know—"

" _Pleeeeeeease!_ " the Charmander whines. He clasps his paws together and shakes them vigorously, like a poor man begging for donations. Actually, begging is the perfect word for his behavior—he's even got the big Growlithe-eyes to match, and a hopeful expression on his face. "I'll be super careful, I _promise_ , and it'll be fun and you've got the Potions, and nothing bad's gonna happen!"

"He seems like he wants to battle," the boy adds cautiously, the same hopeful smile on his face. "Just a one-on-one?"

True finally relents. Whispers and cries of a Pokémon battle spread across the room so fast I'm left stunned—the crowd parts, leaving a wide space open, far from the buffet table.

With a practiced toss, the boy throws a Pokéball up into the air. It bursts open with a flash of light, materializing into a purple, big-earred Nidoran. He blinks up with mischievous brown eyes, shaking himself. "We setting course, boss?" the Nidoran asks, shaking himself so vigorously that his poisonous spines almost shake.

"You bet, Simon" the boy says, grinning. He gestures to True politely. "First move?"

"We'll take it," True says, positioning herself into a more confident battle stance. "Jackson, use an Ember!"

The Charmander takes little time to charge up an attack. Even when our opponent calls for a Scratch attack, bright bits of flame are hurling toward the Nidoran. I'll give the little guy credit—he manages to avoid most of the attack, only being struck on his backside. Without a command, Simon charges toward us, his horn leading the way.

Jackson makes no move to dodge, even as Peter shouts for him to "M-Move!" His mouth is white-hot with another charging Ember—and just as Simon comes in close, Jackson does something I don't expect.

He grabs Simon's horn, and jumps onto his back.

I don't know how he manages to miss the spines leaking with poison, but he fires his Ember to Simon's head with a brutality that sickens me. My stomach drops to the floor along with Simon—I don't feel any better when the Nidoran starts to moan, his ears folded over the bubbling wound.

There are cheers from the crowd, and heads bow together as they comment on the battle. Simon is recalled immediately, and Jackson looks up with a very pleased look on his face. The boy sighs before pulling a few bills out of his pocket and offers them to True. "Guess I was right," he says.

I don't miss the hard look on his face. True doesn't either; even though she takes the money, she does so hesitantly, slipping the hastily-folded bills into the nearest open pocket in her backpack. "Will your Nidoran be alright?" she asks, eying the Pokéball being attached to the boy's hip.

"Yeah, Simon'll be fine. But I need to go see a nurse, excuse me."

I narrow my eyes as I watch him go. He heads through the doors I had seen the other couple go through—that's hardly anything to worry about, considering there are only two ways out of this room and a shit ton of trainers. I hear the sounds of munching behind me and turn back to see that Peter and Jackson have started forcing food into each others' mouths, missing more often than hitting their mark.

They're giggling so much and are so damn happy that I can't help but push the boy's unsettling face out of my mind.

When everyone's had their fill, we stagger toward the open deck. It's way more crowded than it had been even half an hour ago, or whenever it was when we had went in the buffet room. There's a nice breeze tickling our faces, and Minka sighs delightfully as she steps out into the sun.

The deck starts to rumble underneath my feet, and I look up, ears erect. "Anybody else feel that?"

Other heads are looking up, pulling away from conversations about battle tactics or bits of gossip. I hear a woman ask her companion, "There can't be earthquakes at sea, right?" who is answered by, "Ask your Hoenn friend, maybe he'd know."

The boat rocks with a sudden force, pushing Pokémon and trainer alike against each other. I hear balls snap open and see Pokémon released, some species familiar and some utterly foreign—I hear yelps and moans of surprise and fear—

And I hear a chilling voice, over the PA, announce, "Rockets, take off!"

You only have to say the word "Rocket" to make people start to panic—when men and women slip out of the shadows, wearing trademark black uniforms with the bright red "R" emblazoned on the chest, the fear shoots out of every Kantonian and spreads like wildfire across the crowd. People are streaking beside us, pushing and shoving and scraping in their attempt to escape. Balls are sent every which-way as trainers climb on flyers and swimmers in their haste to escape. Those who don't push past Rockets and try to beat them down, only to be thrown overboard or into the side of the boat with fists, claws, bodies, anything.

I lose track of everyone as I'm buffeted back and forth by legs and arms—finally I have to start zapping people in order to push my way through, but in the tangle of limbs I can't see anything familiar. I see high-heels and boots and scuffed shoes and try to dodge them before they kick my face or step on me, and I see bare legs shaking in their attempt to fight or flee.

No no no, I can't have lost here, there's no way—but that's when I see the familiar pair of tennis shoes—

"CASEY!"

And I hear her voice and I do what I did that time on the bridge—I bolt toward it. She's flustered and panicking and shaking, her chest is heaving and dark tears are running down her face, but she's here and there aren't too many bumps or bruises, thank Mew _thank Mew_. "Do you have everyone!" I yell—the yell turns into a howl when someone steps on my tail. I pull it toward me with a hiss, tears stinging in my eyes.

"Only Minka and Clara," she sobs, looking around frantically. "Where're the others?!"

"You can't—"

"And where's Peter, and Kerri, I can't leave without them!"

"You listen to me," I hiss. I slam my paw against one of the Pokéballs fastened around True's waist. Clara materializes above our heads, startling the crowd even more. "You get out of here, alright? Get the fuck out of here and I'll find everyone and we'll meet you on the pier."

"I'm not leaving without you!" True screams, trying to grab at me.

But she has to, she has to because like fucking hell am I letting her get hurt in his—my heart aches and my chest heaves, but I sidestep away from her grasp, which only makes her cry more. "Get to shore and find the police!"

The Fearow lowers herself just enough to not be bombarded by the streaming crowds and grabs her backpack with her claws. True shrieks, flailing so violently that her dress starts to tear, but I'm not as concerned about that as the fearful look in her watery eyes.

No. I can't think about that right now, because if I start then I won't be able to stop. I look toward Clara, who is still somehow calm in the midst of all this chaos, and meet her eyes. "You get her to the docks and you find the police and you _wait with her_ ," I shout, trying not to get buffeted by the crowds. "Do you understand?"

Clara starts to squawk something, but when I start to spark with electricity, she nods. She takes off with a few great wingbeats, soaring above the water and on to shore.

I don't even register True's frantic, pleading cries before I'm surging past the crowd, my cheeks burning with electricity.

Jackson, Kerri, Peter.

My heart is thrumming in my chest and every muscle [i]hurts[/i] because I'm clenching so tightly, I'm terrified and I don't know why the [i]fuck[/i] I'm in the thick of this mess and not going to shore with True.

I hear battle cries and roars of pain and shrieks of terror, and I have to force myself to keep breathing and keep moving. I pass by shivering trainers, ones who look too young to be away from their mothers let alone be on a boat under terrorist attack, and _Arceus_. They see me streaking by and make grabbing motions toward me, and it takes everything I have to ignore them and press on.

I head away from the smoke, even though I'm already coughing hard enough to bruise my lungs. Trainers are engaging in battle against Rockets, some winning handily and others getting beaten to a pulp or worse, and I can't look at the falling bodies at all because it could be _me_ , and I can't, I won't. I check in room after room, all vacated and disturbed by panicked guests and the chaos that comes from escape. There are bloody footprints that make a trail that's easy to follow—tennis shoes, and they're running. There's blood smeared along the walls in splatters and streaks. I vomit up my buffet meal with hacks that make me tremble.

I must have searched the entire deck, and there has been no sign of any of my teammates.

Fangs pierce into my leg without warning, deep stabbing pains, and on instinct I release Thundershock after Thundershock until I'm able to pull away from the sharp teeth and dribbling mouth. The charred body of the Ekans drops like a limp rag onto the ground, its eyes blank in death. The smell of burning scales and dissolving poison is enough to make me want to throw up again—but that's when I hear the soft, familiar whimpering, and my breath catches.

"Jackson?" I call out, not daring to be hopeful—

But a familiar "Casey!" pushes me forward, and somehow I'm able to ignore, for now, the hitched breaths that cradle my name. I stumble into the final room at the end of the hall, my tail sticking straight-up in alarm and shock.

I register the shivering Jackson, whose scales seem to gleam white under the harsh light, and a bowed and bleeding Kerri, quickly. My eye is drawn to the broken, bleeding body of Peter, soaking in red and I can't help it, I lose control of my legs and fall to the ground.

"Oh, Arceus," I whimper.

I don't hear the boots that shift on the carpet behind me until one of them slams into my side—suddenly I'm flying in an arc until I crash against a table, and I land with a heavy thud. Jackson is screaming and Kerri is snarling, but I only look up—first in shock and alarm, and then in fury.

"The boy from the battle," I hiss. I try to stand up, but my legs won't obey, they fall right underneath me every time I try to push off the ground. I want to tell myself that it's fatigue, that I've spent my energy—but I'm fucking terrified, staring up into his empty eyes as he releases a Pokémon from his belt and closes the door behind him.

I recognize the sleek, dark body, but only just. Blood-red eyes narrow with delight as the Sneasel sharpens its claws against each other. "Operation go, boss?" the high-pitched voice asks, as it nears me.

"Go," the boy says, his fingers twitching against his leg.

It comes at me faster than I can react, before I can even begin to start charging an attack. I can't move, I feel faint, I'm going to pass out—I'm going to _die_  and I don't want to, I can't—

Kerri slams into the attacking Sneasel faster than I'd ever seen her move. Both of them slam into the wall and bite and slash at each other, shrieking furiously. Jackson comes up to me and presses bloody paws against my body, as if to brace himself, before firing several Embers at the Pidgey-faced boy. He shrieks and recoils against the attacks, bringing his arms up to protect his face.

Kerri's clawing and biting and kicking at the Sneasel as blood flies, staining the bed and the walls and me with every blow. It takes moments-hours-years for the fighting to stop, but finally Kerri pushes herself away from the crumpled corpse of her opponent, panting. She limps back toward us with a bowed head and fast, uneven breaths—but she's alive, and she's Kerri, and I start crying when I see her.

"They're evacuating the ship—"

"All the Gym Leaders and Elites on board are helping everyone escape," Kerri pants. "We just have to—"

"You're not going anywhere."

All three heads whip around to see the boy—I can't think of him as our attacker, even when he's sent that Sneasel to kill us, because he's a _boy_  who can't be older than some of the kids just starting out on journeys, and what the _fuck_ could have driven him to this—and all three of us freeze as he aims a black pistol right at us, his finger right on the trigger.

"By the time anyone comes here to help you," he wheezes, choking on the scent of his own burning flesh, "you'll all be dead."

Jackson presses himself against me, trembling with fear—I don't do any better, trying to push myself as far away from the pointed gun as I can. I can't run, I can't fight, I can't—

"Do you still have enough juice for an attack?" Kerri murmurs under her breath.

I don't do anything at first—my eyes are locked on that weapon and I feel as though I'm about to piss myself, but I nod and whimper a terrified, "Yes."

"Start charging."

And before I can do anything, the Nidorina charges to our attacker.

The first shots miss her entirely—the second grazes her forearm, which makes her cry out. Kerri gets as far as his leg, biting down with all the force she has, before the final shot rings out. Blood erupts from the back of her neck, and Kerri howls furiously—but despite that she doesn't let go, she tugs and tugs even as her struggles grow weaker.

I don't think—I let go and I force a Thunder Wave out, wrapping the boy in electricity until he crumbles to the floor. The gun slides out of his reach as he starts to convulse, before finally going unnaturally still.

It's Jackson who moves to drag her away, prodding her face with glowing claws. And before I can tell him to move out of the way, to stop what he's doing, to do _something_ , he's engulfed in a brilliant flash of white.

I don't do anything until the white fades away, or after. I can't separate the blood that marks him from his new red scales, or tell whether the sharpness in his eyes is that of an evolved Pokémon or of a scared boy whose world has just been turned upside down. I don't see any familiar trace of the Charmander I had once known in the Charmeleon who stands before me now, his head bowed over a d—

A de—

It should be so simple, I know—she'd been fighting, she never rested, because she was a hotheaded _idiot_ who took risks and didn't stop to _fucking think_ , and if I was being honest with myself something like this could have happened a long time ago. Not like this, blasted by a gun and clawed so deep by a Pokémon who wasn't even _fucking native to Kanto_.

But she can't be—Arceus, I can't even think the word, but I know I know _I know_ —she can't, because this is fucking Kerri who defeated a rock gym with nothing but brute strength; who beat the sense into me; who was the fucking backbone of this team. She can't be this bleeding mess of a Nidorina who is being shaken by Jackson, who's crying and whimpering and roaring in frustration as he tries to will life into something that won't move.

She has to move.

_The sand's stained with blood and the Arcanine is being restrained and he's not moving, why isn't he moving._

But she won't.

Peter stares up at me with blank, unstaring eyes.

I can't hear Jackson's cries, but his shoulders are shaking so hard that I know he's still crying.

The shadowy figure that phases through the door startles us both, because the door was closed and _we might have killed someone_  but what does it matter because friends are dead and _oh Arceus_. I'm useless to stop him as, with a roar, Jackson runs up to the stranger with claws outstretched, swiping and hacking away—but the Charmeleon's claws pass right through the semitransparent body, and Jackson tumbles below the hovering Pokémon, only inches away from the Rocket's ashen face.

I watch, trembling, as the Haunter moves its hands around in a circle, rhythmic and practiced. Jackson looks up with a glare and a snarl, but stops, mesmerized by the display—as he watches the ghost's moving hands, his eyes flutter shut and his head slams onto the ground.

"Let me go!" I screech, sending a Thundershock toward the stranger.

It disappears so fast that I'm taken aback—but when suddenly-solid hands grab me with surprising force, I start to really panic. "We haven't done an'thing, let us go—"

The door opens suddenly, and an ash-haired woman peers in. "Hamlet, what have we got there?"

I can tell by the lines on her face that the old woman is usually stern, unmoving—but her expression is one of disbelief as she stares into the room. A Gengar floats by her side, far more passive about the situation.

"Two survivors and three bodies," the Haunter replies. "One in-between."

I look up to see the Haunter staring at the old woman—his master—before it clicks. One of the oldest Elite Four members and a master of ghost-types, Agatha Cromwell was not a woman to be trifled with.

"Poor Pikachu looks like he's going to pass out, Hamlet, loosen up."

I only feel the Haunter's grip loosen slightly—for some reason it makes me struggle harder to break free.

"Don't move," Agatha says. "We're getting you out of here." She looks down at the paralyzed boy at her feet and shakes her head. "Idiot. Is this your trainer?"

Murderer thief punk murderer coward _murderer_. "No."

"Then where _is_ your trainer?"

I can still feel the tears dribbling down my cheeks, but somehow I'm able to force out the words. "On the piers, she's got'er Fearow'n'Bulbasaur, Clara'n'Minka, and she's scared, her name's True Fargone—"

Her eyes narrow, her puckered lips sharpening her facial features. "Fargone as in—?"

"He's her father, but she wasn'a part'f this," I rush out, and my throat feels like it's tying itself in knots and I can't _fucking stop crying_. "I swear'n my life she wasn't..."

Agatha takes a deep, long breath before nodding. "We'll see about that. But first, let's bring you all home."

The last thing I remember thinking is "I'm sorry" before the Gengar's eyes force me into sleep.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

I wake up exactly twice before I actually _wake up_.

The first is when Agatha's Haunter had placed me down on the stretcher that led to the hospital. I had only been able to see shapes and flashes of red and orange and blue and purple and red red _red_ —they blended into each other until I couldn't tell the sky from the sea, from the weathered-looking woman who had brought us from the boat to the young face who was going to bring me to the Pokémon Center.

The second is in the dark of the night, when a Chansey had shuffled in to check my wounds and change the bandages on my side. She had been singing under her breath, a light melody that I only half-recognized. It was able to fight the memories that flashed along with the blood—I had wanted to ask her what the song was, but even opening my mouth had been too hard. So I had just listened to her sing, until, at some point, falling back asleep again.

The third time, when I can actually move and know what's going on and what happened, is when light is filtering through the off-white curtains and into the sterile room. I open my eyes slowly, cautiously, in case I'm still dreaming. I open my eyes a tiny bit, and there's only white and the palest, palest blue—not a splash of red in sight. I look down at my freckled arm, wrapped in a bandage and attached to an IV, and the sheet-like blankets that I've been resting on. Fuzzy shapes become crisp and clear—I see a vase of flowers on the tiny side table next to me, and the empty screen of a television.

No red. No bodies. No carpet. No Kerri. No guns. No Peter.

"Oh, thank Mew, you're awake."

I can't turn too fast, because even turning my head takes its toll out of me, but the hair along my spine bristles with surprise as I register a familiar someone pressing herself against my back. Slowly, too slowly, I turn over onto my uninjured side, and am met with a pair of familiar brown eyes. They're not the color I had just seen—these are warmer, on a brown and gentle face that won't headbutt me into oblivion.

My tongue feels like sandpaper—hell, I feel like I've had a whole sandbox shoved into my mouth. I only have to open my mouth for Cassidy to turn and grab a saucer of ice. Slowly, too slowly, I rest each piece on my tongue and let it melt. By the time I've emptied the tiny dish, my mouth feels more familiar again. "How long was I out?"

"A day," Cassidy responds, brushing the plastic dish to the side of the bed.

It was a training accident—I hit my head too hard—Kerri was a little too powerful—Peter was getting himself in trouble. "And everyone—?"

"It's just me right now," she says. She looks like she's struggling for words, which isn't like her—and the way she's carrying herself, the way her eyes are filled with pity and too-much warmth and none of that playful spark, isn't like her either.

"Casey, I'm—"

And then I know how it wasn't a dream.

"Don't." I can't talk about it right now, I can't, because if I talk... I can't. "Where're the others?"

"They admitted your Charma—Charmeleon," she corrects herself, "into another room. He's okay, just sleeping."

I have to take a deep breath. "Minka and Clara?"

"I don't know. Gary and I had to force our way through the crowd to even get a glimpse of you. We wouldn't have gotten in if it wasn't for—"

The door opens, and both of us look up to see Professor Oak enter the room with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. He looks at me for a second and breathes a sigh of relief, his hands never shaking. "Thank Arceus."

The fuck? Had they given me drugs?

"They did," the old man chuckles, and I realize that the words had slipped out. "But, perhaps unfortunately for you, you're not hallucinating."

At least I haven't completely lost my mind. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Oak comes to sit on the edge of the bed, holding his coffee with both hands. "Delays are a funny thing," he chuckles, shaking his head sadly. "Funny, if it weren't for a little accident in the lab... I could have been on that boat."

Cassidy's ears hang low against her head as she stares up at him—but I'm just looking down to my hands, where my fingers interlock with each other.

I hear Oak clear his throat, and start to tense up, even when he starts to speak. "Casey, if there is anything I can—"

"True knows," I murmur quietly. This time, when I look up, the old Professor has looked away; both hands are gripping the cup so tightly that it starts to bend under his grip. "She knows, doesn't she?"

I hear Cassidy sniffling and feel her paw move up to her face, pressing against the edges of her eyes. "Yes."

Fuck the pain that shoots up my side—I stand right up in my bed, glaring at the two of them. "I need to see her."

I know that look in Oak's eyes, and immediately my stomach curls itself back into knots. "Casey, please—"

" _Where is she?!_ " I scream. My voice breaks on the final word, and I collapse onto the bed, holding my head in my hands.

I feel a body settle onto my lap, and look up just long enough to register it as Cassidy before she presses her nose against the tiny crook of my neck. "They had to make sure she wasn't involved in the attack—"

"She wasn't," I mumble pathetically.

"I know," she soothes. "The police wanted to bring her in for questioning... but Agatha said there was an easier way, if she allowed it."

Agatha was a Pokémon Trainer—a ghost-type trainer. What the hell kind of easier way was there...?

Unless—

"They were very quick about it," Oak said, still standing with his stupid cup of coffee. "Dream Eater is normally a move used to inflict pain... but Agatha has developed a technique that uses it to help humans and Pokémon remember events."

"Shouldn't that be illegal?"

"It's been tested... but it's very rarely prescribed, for... obvious reasons."

I didn't know that my paw had wandered into Cassidy's fluffy mane until I'm grabbing at the hairs, so hard that Cassidy winces. Immediately I pull my arm away from the Eevee, and force it to stay still against my side. "She did it, didn't she."

Oak falls silent for so long that I thought he hadn't heard me, but he finally answers. "Not at first," he said slowly. "Your Fearow friend volunteered immediately, as did your Bulbasaur."

Fucking Clara and Minka. "And Jackson?"

"He... he's still sedated."

"But you said—"

"Every time he regains consciousness, he starts thrashing around and attacking everyone. The last time he woke up, he was so frustrated that he started... burning the nurses," Oak says.

"So put him in his Pokéball!" I shout.

But Cassidy shakes her head—with how close she is to me, I feel every muscle twitch. "That's the worst thing they could do," she says. "Right now... he needs to grieve."

Like strapping down a newly evolved Charmeleon is going to give him the room to grieve. What the fuck were they even thinking? "Where's True."

"She's still recovering, but—"

"I need to be there when she wakes up," I say shortly.

Cassidy leans against me just enough to pin me down as she says, "You're still hurt, you can't—"

"Let him."

Cassidy turns, stunned, to Oak, her mouth already open to plead her case; but he's looking at me with a grim understanding in his eyes, and in this moment, I know that I've won. "Jackson will be alright by himself for a short while... but the medical team here is good. And it would probably not be wise to let True awaken without you by her side."

He leans over me, pressing a button just above the bed. A busty Nurse Joy slips into the room only minutes later. Almost silently, she looks me over, pressing gentle fingers against my side. It's tender, and I won't be able to move much for a while, but I've had worse. Nurse Joy seems to agree, because after signing a few papers, she nods. "You're free to go."

"I'm going with you," the Eevee says, her eyes narrowed.

"Gary's okay with that?" I ask, ignoring the feeling of the needle slipping out of my arm.

"He's the one who got me into the room in the first place," she says softly.

I'd decided after that lunch to stop trying to understand that kid.

"You'll have to come back for another few check-ups, but you'll be alright. Just take it easy for a bit. No battling."

As much as I would love to tell this nitwit to go fuck herself, what did she think I was doing to _get_ here, I hold my tongue and just nod. Hard-eyed, the woman slips out of the room as soundlessly as she had come in. Before she's even out the door, I try and jump down onto the floor—but I slip on the cold tile and lose my balance, landing against my cheek.

Cassidy jumps down much more elegantly, as always, and comes up close against my side. She doesn't have to say that she'll help me—that's what she does, what she's always done. I lean against her and grab the scruff of her neck, just enough to keep myself upright, and she smiles.

"You can follow me," Oak says, and opens the door for us.

We only pass nurses and Chansey as we make our way down the sterile white hallways. I stumble and trip more than I walk, but Cassidy meets me step for step, encouraging me with gentle words. Oak seems perfectly content to take a leisurely pace, nodding at each bewildered face who recognizes him—considering that he's the leading expert on Pokémon in the region, if not the world, that's everyone.

True's only a hallway away, but I feel as though we're walking through the Underground again. I'm panting by the time Oak peers into the window in her door, but I brace myself as he slowly pushes the door open. "You have visitors."

I don't know who he's talking to until I feel a long, sharp something nibble at the tips of my ears. Clara's eyes are bloodshot and the feathers along her neck are even more ruffled than usual, but she's okay, _she's okay_ , and that alone is enough to make me sigh with relief.

True's on the bed, but she isn't hooked up to any machines; curled up on top of the covers, her hair clouded she looks like she's just taking a nap. Her hair is still done, and makeup is smeared on her face, but the dress has been replaced with a pair of jaded blue jeans and a loose white t-shirt.

"I took the dress back to Sherri," someone says, before I can comment, and I whip around.

I'm not expecting to see the red flower on her back, or her bigger body. Minka's red eyes are the same, though, if you can look past the aching sadness in her expression. "You evolved," I say, because it's the first thing that pops into my head.

"They said it was stress," the Ivysaur says, slowly making her way toward us. "I was supposedly long due for an evolution... and this triggered it."

"When," I croak.

"A few hours ago," she admits, and I grit my teeth.

I don't know whether to say congratulations or not—not when True is still out of it and Jackson—and I look around the room, even though I know he isn't here, to see everyone's eyes on me.

But it isn't just my team in the room, this time.

Agatha stands up from her seat on the couch, looking down at me with steely eyes. "It appears you'll be fine," the older woman says.

Clara raises her head and begins to extend her wings, but Minka wraps her vines around the bird Pokémon, murmuring words I don't catch. My eyes are on the Elite Four member and the Haunter that seems to appear out of nothing.

"Interesting to see you here," I hear Oak say.

Agatha looks up and chuckles. "If it isn't the great Professor Oak himself. An honor."

Oak nods curtly, bowing his head. "Thank you for looking over my... this trainer."

"It wasn't a problem. I needed to make sure Hamlet hadn't done any significant damage."

"And I didn't," the Haunter scoffs.

The old woman chuckles, and looks down to me. "I've informed your two other teammates, but your trainer has been officially declared innocent."

The only reason I don't attack her and scream _"Of fucking course she isn't!"_  is because Cassidy is right by me. As it is, my paws curl into fists, and I nod curtly. "Thank you, Agatha."

"Elite Four Agatha to you," she says. She brushes her hands on her purple cloak and begins to walk past the door, nodding curtly to Professor Oak. Hamlet follows her soundlessly.

Only when she's a safe distance away does Oak sigh. "She's never been one for the living."

"Do they not have manners in the afterlife?" Cassidy asks. It gets a chuckle out of everyone, at least.

The only reason we hear the commotion outside is because Agatha had left the door slightly ajar. A flurry of heads rush past and into the other room, where I hear a horrible sound—snarling, to be sure, and growls. But there's another sound laced in that I know all too well, and immediately I know.

Clara does, too, because she picks me up by the scruff of my neck and bolts out of the room. I don't even have the nerve to scream as she pushes past the nurses standing in the doorway—and then, when I see what lies on the table, any want to say anything at all leaves me.

His wrists are bound behind his back; restraints keep his neck down and his feet and tail secure on the table. Jackson's slender muzzle is tied up so tightly I don't know if he can even breathe.

An older woman looks up at us—the only part of her face I can see is her brown eyes, which are narrowed at the sight of us. "Who let these Pokémon in here?"

"You're hurting him!" I growl, as Clara extends her wings intimidatingly.

Jackson's eyes snap open, and he turns his head as much as he can to look at us. He whines and moan and struggles against his restraints, but even from here I can see how they cut into his skin. They've cleaned him off, at least, and I don't smell any blood, but I can't even begin to feel relieved about that because I'm _livid_.

The room feels crowded, but the only time it feels full is when Professor Oak makes himself known to the room. "I thought the binds were for dangerous cases."

"I call this a dangerous case, sir," the woman retorts, as if Oak was a run-of-the-mill trainer instead of a renowned head of research. "Five of my team has already been burned by this Charmeleon, several more have scratches—"

"He's fucking scared!" I growl, jumping onto the table. Jackson doesn't move, but he looks at me with a hunger and a desperation that breaks my heart. "He watched two of his—"

But I can't say it. I turn away at the last second as Cassidy finishes my sentence: "They were involved in the SS Anne attack."

Beside me, Jackson starts to shake, growling.

"Release that Charmeleon," Professor Oak snaps. "Immediately."

The head nurse looks down at me, scoffs, and shrugs, exiting the room. "Yes, _sir_."

Jackson doesn't move as each of the binds are released; even when he's free to move his arms, he doesn't. Only his tail-flame, bright and white-hot, gives any indication of what he's feeling.

I'm blind to Cassidy's wide eyes, to the angry gleam that hasn't left Oak's eye, to the medical team that files out of the cramped room; I'm deaf to Clara's concerned squawks, or to the pounding of my own heart. Very, very, very cautiously, I move in front of Jackson, so that no small movement surprises him.

"I didn't mean to."

His voice sounds rawer than mine feels, like he's been screaming himself hoarse for a week. "Didn't mean to do what?" I ask gently, sitting down in front of him.

"I saw something... I don't even remember. And then the man spoke, and everyone started _moving_... and I got scared."

Oh, Arceus.

"Kerri found me first, and we went to look for you guys... but everyone was battling, and we couldn't tell where we were going... and we f-found Peter..." He brings his clawed paws up to his face and starts sobbing; his shoulders are shaking just as hard as they had been when—

"And he was already... and we tried to find you again, but we got stuck in that room... and then someone started making booms—"

"Guns," I say, pressing both paws against the sides of Jackson's head. "Those were guns, Jackson."

"And we—"

"I know."

"And if I'd just stayed with you it never would've happened," the Charmeleon sobs, "and it's all my fault."

I see Cassidy make a move out of the corner of my eye, but without taking my eyes away from Jackson I shake my head. She doesn't know Jackson the way I do, and Jackson's only met her once—I'm in danger, being this close to him. But I'm someone he knows, I'm—

"But you didn't do anything either."

I freeze.

"You could've zapped him, you could've... but Kerri did what you were supposed to do," he growls. He rises up on shaky legs, towering high above me. "You could've done what you did to me in Cerulean. But you didn't, you just _stood_ there—"

"I came to find you," I say, already backing up to the edge of the table.

"—And Peter was already dead, but Kerri could've been here!" he roars. He raises one deadly paw high above it, and I know he's going to strike—

But Clara intercepts, catching the blow with her wing. She hisses with pain, but she fixes her eyes on the Charmeleon, shrieking something beyond my hope of understanding.

But, somehow, Jackson seems to know just what's she's saying, or what she's trying to say. "You weren't there, you didn't—!"

Clara screeches so loudly that I have to cover my ears, shaking her head furiously.

"Nobody was there! The only one who was there was Kerri and now—now she's—!"

"It's not his fault."

Every head turns, and my heart sinks down into the earth when I see True in the doorway. Minka stands beside her with a guilty expression on her face, but she looks up anyway.

"It's Team Rocket's fault. It's security's fault. It's..." She stops and looks up, wrapping her arms tight around her shoulders. "It's _my_ fault."

Jackson growls, but he doesn't say anything. I look at her and I'm taken back, years and years, to other blurs and other reds; and I can't fucking say anything, because if I do then I'm going to start crying, too.

Clara doesn't move her wing, but she adjusts herself so that True can stand directly in front of Jackson. She looks him dead in the eye as she says, "Don't blame your team for something they couldn't control," she says, as tear start dribbling down her cheeks. "I was the one who chose to get on the ship, and they... I couldn't stop it."

Jackson is silent for a long, long while, and when he replies it's with less anger than before. "They're still gone."

True pushes past Clara and me like we're not even there, and wraps her arms around Jackson's neck, fitting his jaw against the crook of her neck. One bite or one slash would be enough to kill her—but Jackson just crumbles in her embrace, gripping her with his strong arms. "I know," I hear her say, over and over again. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." And I watch as, together, they sob until they're not even making sounds anymore.

There isn't room for all three of us—four, if you counted the looming Fearow—so Clara and I make a move to leave—but somehow True manages to pull us all into the embrace. She squeezes tight, and I feel Jackson's moist breath wash over me and it's warm and musty and for some idiotic, stupid reason, I can't help but think about how Kerri would ask for a breath mint, or how Peter would be able to fit the little bit of space between my arm and Jackson's neck.

But then that space is filled by a vine, darker and grayer than I'm used to. I take it. I hear someone move closer toward us, but it's only Oak who hoists Minka up onto the very little space that's left. It's crowded and everyone's breath fucking stinks and we're a shaking mess, but it's here, it's home.

"I'm going to be here for a while on some business," Oak interrupts. As one, we break from our embrace to look at the old man. His wise, dark eyes are on me as he says, "Should I be needed for any reason, I'll be staying with my friends in the Pokémon Fan Club."

His implication is obvious. After his stay in Vermilion, he would be going back to Pallet Town. It would be an easy ride, and he likely wouldn't be leaving again until some other business called him away.

I could go home.

The only ones who had known about my deal with True had been us, Kerri, Oak, and Cassidy—I don't know if Kerri had told anyone else, but judging by the looks on their faces, I doubt it. Cassidy and I meet eyes and stare for one tense moment—and when I don't say anything, no _"That won't be necessary"_ or _"I'm staying,"_ she sighs and nods her head. "I need to go find Gary. It was... nice to see everyone again."

"I need to find my grandson as well," Oak says, turning toward the door. "We'll go together."

Cassidy smiles faintly before walking out the door, leaving the five of us in the room together, alone.

"So what happens now?" Jackson asks, shifting into a sit.

"There isn't much in Vermilion that we haven't already done," Minka says. She shifts her body awkwardly before mumbling something under her breath.

She doesn't get away with it—True lifts her head and wipes black-stained tears from her face. "Except what, Minka?"

The Ivysaur closes her eyes and sighs. "There's the gym."

True leans on the table, her hair falling over her face. "I don't know... what do you—?"

"Kerri would want us to go."

True's shoulders start shaking again, but she turns to Jackson anyway with heavy eyes. "If you—"

"Kerri wouldn't want us to stop what we were doing!" Jackson shouts.

Minka lifts a vine and places it on True's hand; her other vine covers my arm, a lifeline that I don't cling to. "If we train hard enough—"

But Jackson doesn't let her finish. "Let me do this! There's gotta be—I can do this—!"

"There's a way."

Jackson and True whip toward me. My arms fold over my belly with a mind of their own. I shut my eyes. "The Vermilion Gym specializes in electric-types. Diglett Cave is nearby. We can add a—"

"I don't want to add another team member," Jackson roars.

I backpedal, not wanting to push Jackson further away from us than he already is. "We don't have to." I take a breath and look to True. "That TM the guard gave you was Dig, wasn't it?"

Her answer is hesitant, but it comes. "Yes."

"Bring out your Pokédex."

Her bag is in the other room, so we all file out—Minka leaves a message on the door, telling any nurse who comes in where Jackson is—and come back to True's room. Clara picks True's bag up and sets it on the bed, and True pulls out the electronic machine. "Now what?"

"Check TM compatibility."

It takes a few minutes for True to navigate the system, but when she does, an electronic voice rings out. " _REGISTERED TM: DIG. COMPATIBLE TEAM Pokémon: CHARMELEON._ "

The knot in my belly loosens a bit. "Come here, Jackson."

There's hesitance in his expression, but the Charmeleon steps forward. True already has the sheathed disk in her hand, and pulls it out. A slip of paper falls out of the case, which Minka picks up. "Activate TM by placing on recipient Pokémon's head," the Ivysaur reads. "Move will be registered in the Pokémon's learn set."

True cups Jackson's head with her free hand. "Do you want to do this?" she asks.

Jackson only nods, clenching his eyes tight. "Do it."

With a shaking hand, True presses the edge of the TM on the Charmeleon's head. The disk disappears in a shower of sparks—I smell the scent of freshly-churned earth, and my toes curl. When Jackson opens his eyes, they flash brown before returning to their normal color.

Clara warbles, her head tilted to the side. Jackson looks up and nods, a determined expression on his face. "I'm okay."

"Then I think what we need to do," Minka says, "is train."

Clara nods, stretching her wings. She stares at me with an expectant look on her face, but the only thing I can do is turn away. "What we need to do is get out of this wing of the Center," I say. "And we need to eat."

"And we'll have to schedule a battle at the gym," True murmurs, rattling things off of her head. "That shouldn't take long. And we'll stock up on supplies... and then we'll train."

She turns to me with a hesitant expression on her face. Wordlessly, I nod, and she sighs. "I can't do any training until this heals," I say, brushing my arm uncomfortably against my bandage. "But I won't..." _Not yet. Not right now. When she's better, when this city is behind her_.

True nods. She grabs her backpack and readjusts her belt, fingering the two empty Pokéballs. "If you still..."

I'm the one who comes up to her, resting my paw on her arm. "We're with you."

The end of Vermilion, I tell myself. The end of Vermilion.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

"Do you think your father was somehow involved in the attacks?"

"What's your opinion about the ongoing Rocket Hunt?"

"When was the last time you saw Richard Fargone?"

"Are you still planning on taking the League Challenge?"

True's clinging onto me so tightly that I can hardly breathe, but I manage to choke out "Ignore them." With my face pressed against her chest I can't see the wild-eyed monsters that call themselves _reporters_ —it means I can't see exactly what's going on, or tell them to fuck themselves over. "Do you have the key?"

The card's been in her hand ever since we'd left the room in the first place, both for her own piece of mind and mine. She keeps it tight between her fingers, and I focus on it too, because it's better than trying to bat away the hands and questions.

There's a double door that the reporters aren't allowed to cross, no exceptions—the towering Machoke makes sure of that. I'm only able to look up just enough to see his narrowed, distrusting eyes before he lets us pass. The second we're through those doors, his heavy arm slams against the wood and glass.

It's supposed to be a safe haven, but after three days of this, it feels more like a prison.

We thunder down the hallway to our room; within seconds, the card key is swiped, the door is open, and we're back inside. True kicks the door shut with a satisfying click before threatening to crumble into a heap—but before I can even register that I'm falling from her embrace, Minka has her vines wrapped reassuringly around her, and Clara is moving off of the big bed to give us room to lie down and catch our breath.

Even after being cleared by Agatha, and given official permission to continue our league challenge, we should have known that getting out of the Pokémon Center wouldn't be an easy job. _I_ should have known. News travels fast in a city of gossipers, and somehow or another, word had gotten out about True and her whereabouts and her... _connections_. That had brought the reporters, who tried over and over to get an interview, or a sound byte, or even a glimpse—through wind or fire or any better story, there was always at least one of them out there, watching.

Needless to say, we hadn't gone out to do any training.

From his spot in the corner, Jackson looks up, his lip curled over his teeth. "Did you get the stuff?"

I wait until True has stumbled in the bathroom and started running the water to respond, careful to keep my voice down. "We were halfway there before one of the reporters found us."

"It sounded like more than one," he accuses.

"They were like Beedrill. One came, the others followed."

With a snarl, Jackson beats his paw against the wall, creating another dent to join the other two he's already made.

None of us really say anything until True emerges from the bathroom. Her face is bright red from hard scrubbing, and her hands are shaking. She walks right past me as she falls onto the bed, shoes still on. Clara looks up in alarm, but extends her head timidly, poking at her shoelaces. There is no response from True, who curls herself into a ball.

Clara pulls the covers from the foot of the bed and drapes them over True, who retreats under them without a word.

Jackson doesn't really move from his spot at the corner of the room, instead keeping his eyes trained on the door, like someone is about to barge through. Clara settles herself back at the foot of the bed, seated on the ground; Minka joins her, her bulb brushing against Clara's wing. I sit next to the lump where True's head should be.

We wait, and we wait, for her to come out or tell us to fuck off or just. Do _something_.

And then, when I'm not quite sure if she's ever going to move again, there's a knock at the door.

True doen't even move from her place on the bed; Jackson's head shoots up as Clara pushes herself off the ground, her eyes narrowed. Minka and I look at each other for a long moment before I nod. With a sigh, Minka makes her way toward the door with both vines extended. "You're not allowed past the sliding doors."

There's a long pause before a familiar voice answers back: "I'm not a reporter."

I hear Jackson growl, but I sigh with relief. "Let him in."

We all stare, me with warmth and the others with varying degrees of unease and distrust, as Professor Oak makes his way in the room. He takes a long look around the room and adjusts the collar on his white coat before sighing. "I don't know how it is that you've been able to get past that blockade—"

"We haven't," Jackson growls.

Oak sighs. "I imagine you might like to get out of this room. I had a long talk with my good friend, and we have a room for you, if you'd like to join me."

From underneath the covers: "No."

He seems to have expected the answer, because Oak doesn't react. "There will be plenty of food for you and your team, some supplies, a chance to wash your clothes—"

" _I'm not going._ "

Using the bed for balance, Minka peeks over the side of the bed. "This is an excellent opportunity, True, and—"

True suddenly rises from the bed, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes wild. "I can't go out there!"

I hear Minka open her mouth to say something, but I meet her eyes and shake my head. "Why don't you take the Professor outside."

"Those reporters—"

"Have to be outside the cabin hall." I clear my throat and look up at Oak. "Is there a way out of the Center that doesn't involve frying reporters?"

He puts his hands in his coat pockets, a casual move that looks out of place with our tense bodies and frantic eyes. "There's a way behind the alleys."

I guess I shouldn't be surprised; Professor Oak has been around Kanto so many times, he probably knows every rock in the region. "Wait at the other end of the hall. True and I'll meet you there."

Oak looks at me for a long, tense moment, but finally nods his head with a smile.

"And what are we going to do?" Jackson asks, standing erect.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh. "You're going to go with the Professor. True and I need to be alone for a little bit."

The Charmeleon looks as though he's about to protest, but Clara stands up and turns to him. She brushes the tip of her wing along his back, her eyes impossibly soft; Jackson looks at her for one long moment before sighing. "Guess I don't have a choice."

"It'll be easier this way," Minka says. She catches my eye as she sighs. "We'll be right outside."

It's awkward, and it's wrong—it's _wrong_ , I know it is, and Oak know it is—because we're a team and we should be in this together. But I can't do this with them, when they're still grieving and don't know how to handle her. I can't battle and I can't save people, but I can fucking do this, and I'm going to.

So I listen for the click of the closing door, and the sound of their footsteps down the hall. And it's only after I've decided they've gone down the hall that I turn to True, pulling the covers off. "Whatever's on your mind, you can tell me."

She looks away, like she hasn't even heard me, and says nothing.

True is usually the one to grab onto me, to pull me close against her chest and keep me there; this time, I'm the one who's pressing against the other. My cheeks brush against her forearm, and her chest, and her cheeks—I'm able to get a laugh, though I'm sure it's only because the underside of her chin is a tickle spot.

Her hand comes to brush against my back, teasing the fur along my spine. I close my eyes and sigh.

And then, like I always do when she shuts down like this, I wait.

She doesn't cry—her eyes don't even water. "I'm not him."

"I know."

"But everyone thinks I am."

"Who thinks you are?"

A pause. "Everyone."

"I don't know everyone. You'll have to tell me."

I'm close enough to feel every breath, every swallow, every tremor. Her breath hitches and the hand on my back starts to shake, but I just nuzzle against her cheek.

"The Elite Four—"

"Agatha cleared you. Remember? She said it wasn't your fault. There was no way it was your fault."

"Agatha's not the Elite Four," she whispers.

She might not have been the entire Elite Four, but she was certainly one of the most influential members. "Has anyone else come to arrest you? Paparazzi don't count" I add, when I feel her start to protest.

I wait. And then: "No."

"And aside from them, has anyone said anything to you?"

"The nurses don't trust me. And if I was able to get out of here—"

"You don't know that." The nurses hadn't seemed trusting of _anyone,_  and as far as I've heard no one else had died, except for...

"It still happened." I feel tears drip on the top of my head. "They're still gone."

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Sigh. "That's not your fault, either."

"I'm the trainer," she sobs. She bows her head so that her forehead is resting on top of my head, a weight that I bear with hitching breath. "I shouldn't have—"

"Listen to me," I say. Though they tremble, I brush my paws against her cheeks, each finger feather-soft against her skin. "Look at me."

It takes a few tries, a bit of pushing against her head, but finally she looks up at me with glassy green eyes, wide and wet and weeping. "I couldn't—"

"You couldn't have done anything. You couldn't have, True. I was there, and it was..."

There were no words. No songs. No melodies to strum along to. I didn't want to go back there, I couldn't go back there, even for True or Kerri or Peter or—

"We lost Kerri and Peter, and it... it was _awful_." I take a deep breath, force my arms to stop shaking. "But there was nothing else you could have done. Do you understand?

There was nothing else anyone could have done, unless they had been Team Rocket. Unless they had been Elite Four. Unless unless unless.

I'd lost teammates. I'd lost friends. I'd lost too many in my life to lose anyone else.

There was no fucking way in hell I'm losing True, too.

"Did they...?" She takes a shaky breath and looks up, blinking back tears. "Jackson didn't know, and... no one would tell me... Was it...?"

I had no idea about Peter. I don't know how much Jackson had processed to know what had happened and what hadn't. But I had seen Kerri and I had seen the blood, and I had seen it and it had been clean. "Quick," I force out, remembering Kerri's body hitting the ground after the shot and Peter's blood-soaked body and charred skin and burned flesh and—

"You're crying."

I hadn't even felt the tears trailing down my cheeks until True had pointed them out. She touches one of them with a shaking finger, almost poking my eye out, and sniffs watery snot back into her nose. "My... someone told me there was something special about Pokémon tears. That they brought..."

I wipe the other cheek with a trembling paw and chuckle. "Somebody told me that once, too."

_They're full of life._

No amount of tears would have saved them. Jackson could have told her that. I could have told her that. It was all a bunch of shit, but it was something she wanted to cling to. And so I let her.

We bow our heads together, and she rocks us on that too-firm bed that smells like sweat and tears and sadness, and we mourn for all the loved ones we had lost.

* * *

 

I don't remember exactly what time it was when I had sat down with True. I sweep through the room, making sure to grab any extra socks or bits of food, as True packs all of her belongings back into her bag. She's slipped into a loose-fitting sweatshirt, her hood raised over her head to hide her hair.

"Have everything?"

"Yeah," she says, from the window-side of the room. "Do we leave the card key here?"

I have no idea what the protocol is for that, but I assume it's a good enough move. "We'll send a note."

I hear the sound of a chair being pushed—probably to cover the dents Jackson was kind enough to leave behind—and stumbling feet. I'm the first one through as True opens the door. I can't help but sigh a bit when the door finally closes, both of us on the hall-side of the room.

"So where would they have gone?"

I know one way is toward the reporters—the other way must lead to Professor Oak. We travel silently down the hall until we get to the end, where a vending machine advertises Soda Pop and candy. It's only now that I think it probably would have been a good idea to ask for more articulate directions—

"Over here!"

We both turn to see Minka wave at us, her head poking out from the door leading to the staircase. Careful to keep quiet, True and I slip inside, closing the door. Clara chirps something in welcome, her beak curling up into a smile, as True brushes the bright-red crest on top of Clara's head.

"It should be dark enough to travel now," Oak says. "It's not too far to travel, but alleys always have mysterious characters. Be alert."

It's not something I had wanted to hear, but at this point I'd rather deal with alley Pokémon than that pack of reporters. Oak leads the way down the stairs, past the work station, and pushes open a door that leads to narrow back streets.

It's darker than I had expected, even though I have no idea what time it is. Oak keeps a brisk pace, leaving us no time to catch our breath. But he hadn't exaggerated the shortness of the trip. It only seems like minutes since we left the Center and when we stop in front of a high-rising brick building, with a cheery sign proclaiming "VISITORS WELCOME!"

"Please don't tell me we're where I think we are," I say weakly.

Oak chuckles before opening the door. "It won't be that bad, trust me."

You'd expect the first thing to see when going into the Pokémon Fan Club was... well, _Pokémon_. But save for a Clefairy snoozing in a red recliner chair, the only living thing is a balding man standing near a staircase near our door. As we pass the faded-looking kitchen, big enough to feed several visitors, he looks up with mischievous gray eyes. The second he locks on to True, he grins happily. "She's the girl, eh, Oak?"

Oak nods, placing a reassuring hand on True's shoulder. "True, may I introduce my good friend, Eun—"

"Mr. Pokémon," the old man interrupts. He slowly hobbles his way over toward us, extending his arm down for me to shake it. "Oak's the only one who's allowed to call me by my real name, and never in front of company. Ain't that what I said?"

"Numerous times," Oak replies.

I'm hesitant, but I take his leathery hand and shake it. From what little hand I'm able to shake, he's got a good grip. "Thanks for letting us, uh..."

"Oh, no problem, no problem." He turns to shake with the others—Clara offers a hesitant wing; Minka shakes his hand warmly with her vines; Jackson doesn't even look at him—before turning to True. "Lovely team of Pokémon you have, my dear."

True blinks for a moment, and looks at me; when I give her an encouraging nod, she takes Mr. Pokémon's offered hand and shakes it. "Thank you, but—"

"Ah, no 'buts.' Learn how to take a compliment, my dear, it does good for people. Now, would any of you like some soda? Warm milk? Scotch?"

I have to fight to keep myself from saying anything—like _"who the fuck offers scotch with soda and milk?"_ —and step alongside True as she makes her way to the edge of the couch, pressing herself against the arm. Minka rests underneath True, while Jackson and Clara take it upon themselves to explore the living room.

"Yes, yes, make yourselves at home." Mr. Pokémon settles in the other recliner, throwing up the footrest with surprising strength. "Just don't be too loud, Fara drank too much and passed out. Poor dear."

"Fara's your wife?" Minka asks kindly, looking up the stairs.

Mr. Pokémon laughs, gesturing to the slumbering Clefairy. "She bosses me around like she's my wife, but nah, no dice."

Fara turns onto her side with a well-timed grunt.

Mr. Pokémon chuckles before turning to True, his brow quirked. "So tell me about yourself, my dear. I know you're name's True, 'cause Oakie here told me—"

" _Oakie?_ " I whisper; Oak just shrugs and chuckles.

"—But I don't know much else."

True looks down into her lap, drawing her legs close to her. "There isn't much to say," she says softly.

"Ah, I don't buy that," Mr. Pokémon says. "No such thing as a gal with not a lot to say, 'specially one as pretty as you."

True flushes. I narrow my eyes as the hairs along my shoulders bristle. "Is now the time, sir? We've had a rough couple of days—"

We all jump at the sound of the front door being slammed open, but Clara's the first one to react. Rising up, wings extended, she lets loose a shrill cry before suddenly, without any warning, a stream of water hits her square in the face.

"I wasn't expecting her this early," Mr. Pokémon sighs. "Her aim with that Water Gun's gotten better."

Water Gun?

"Alright, _Eunice_ , I've got your Potions, your bread, your Apriso refill, and your sick-as-fuck prune juice. Gloria says you need to pick up the rest of your medicine on Friday, but I'm not going down there again,  _you_ have to get off your lazy ass and do it."

Minka is wrapping her vines around Clara, trying to stop the giant bird from going on the attack—but I can't do anything but stare at the bipedal turtle who sets an assortment of bags down on the low-sitting coffee table. She makes a great show of pulling every item out of its bag, one by one by one, replacing each treasure before taking the next one. As she does so, her gold-colored eyes flick between me and True and Oak, like she's taking us in.

We don't do anything but stare back at her. With a dark chuckle, she scoffs and turns to Mr. Pokémon. "They don't look like criminals."

"That's because we're not," I growl.

"An excellent job, Britt... but I must make sure everything's been, ah, accounted for."

With a smirk, Britt pulls out several slips of paper that have been tucked between her fan-like ears and the lip of her shell. "I even alphabetized them for you," she says, slapping the receipts into his waiting hand. "Aren't I a sweetheart?"

"His name's Eunice?" Jackson asks from the bookcase.

"Yeah. I mean, it makes sense. If that was my name, I'd tell everyone my name was Mr. Pokémon—"

Oak clears his throat, turning to the smirking Wartortle. "Now, Britt, I'd like you to meet some friends of mine. This is True, and her... partner, Casey. And these are—"

"The girl who has a story every reporter'd sell their arm for, and her rag-tag team of misfits. Yeah, I know who you are." She turns to True with a smirk, her fluffy tail swaying behind her. She extends an arm of her own. "Nice work back—"

I'm on my feet and slapping her arm away before I know it. "She had nothing to do with that."

She chuckles darkly. "So says Agatha."

"Now, Britt, that's enough." Mr. Pokémon has pushed himself up off his chair, the tips of his ears a bright red. "If all you're going to do is make trouble, I highly suggest getting to bed."

"Bed? It's not even midnight!"

"And I'm an old man who's up past his bedtime. If you'd like to stay up, you can escort our guests to their rooms."

"But—"

" _Now_ , Britt." Mr. Pokémon dusts off his pants and turns to us with a pained smile. "Forgive my friend here. She'll take good care of you. Breakfast in the morning? I make excellent waffles."

Oak lifts himself off of the couch with a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head. "I'll pick up a few berries in the morning for True and myself."

"Not too early! We have places to go, people to see! So go on, all of you, off to bed!" As Mr. Pokémon walks toward the stairs, he turns to True with a gentle smile. "You wouldn't want to miss my waffles, dear, they're quite good. Whipped cream with yours?"

True blinks up, her brow furrowed. "I don't—"

"Take the fucking whipped cream," Britt says.

Clara caws threateningly, her pupils narrowed to slits—but before I can say anything to calm her down, True nods her head shyly. "Um, yes, please. Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. The beds are made so you can just plop right in. I've also got a few books for you to peruse through, if you so desire."

We wait until both Mr. Pokémon and Oak have climbed the stairs up to their own bedrooms; Fara is still sleeping, her belly on the cushion and her head pressed into the crook of the chair. "She's still—?"

"Alive? Yeah. Damned Clefairy could sleep through anything." She takes one look at the disturbed bags on the table, shrugs, and starts moving toward the stairs. "Anyway, unless you want to sleep on that couch, the room's up there."

Jackson, who has been touching delicate-looking instruments with his claw, looks over to the Wartortle with narrowed eyes. "I thought that man said you were supposed to take us there."

"You're a big boy, take yourself there." She waves a paw and makes her way toward the kitchen. "Door's already open and the light's on, so you should be alright."

That's not enough for Jackson, who walks toward her. "What were you doing out there?"

Britt smirks. "Studying to be a ballerina. Now get, Eunice wakes up stupidly early."

I can't call the noise that comes out of Clara anything other than a growl—it makes all of us jump and turn toward the bristling Fearow, whose beak is restrained by Minka's vines. A _normal_ Pokémon would have flinched, but the Wartortle just waves her hand and turns her back toward us, disappearing behind the counter.

"It's just a temporary thing," I hear Minka say—maybe partially to us, but mostly to herself. "We'll be out of here and we'll never have to see her again."

It hadn't been a long day physically, but we're all emotionally spent and I know that we've reached our limits: True's eyes are fluttering shut and she looks like she's about to drop, Clara's fidgeting and agitated, Minka's looking absurdly flustered, and Jackson... I don't know what he's doing, but he has his arms crossed and is looking at us impatiently. I take one of the Pokéballs fastened on her belt and tap at it, catching Clara's eye. "Ball or bed tonight?"

Several tense seconds pass before Clara finally sighs and stops moving. As soon as Minka's vines have been withdrawn, Clara taps her Pokéball and is sucked in a flash of red.

I sigh, nudging True awake. "Anybody else?"

Minka and Jackson shake their heads. After turning most of the lights off—"Fara might wake up," Minka says—we traipse up the stairs, passing several framed pictures, some black-and-white, some sepia, some full-color, that go as far down as the ground. Every human is shown bent down on the ground, their arms wrapped around or hung across Pokémon; judging by the sparks in their eyes and the confident looks on their faces, they're all trainers and battling teams. There's one in particular that catches my eye—but as soon as I stop to look at it, Minka's head butts against my back.

Later.

The room is about the size of the one we had left in the Pokémon Center, with a few notable differences: rather than the moderately-sized window, there's a sizable bookcase well-stocked with volumes of Pokémon-themed books, and a small work desk. As True shrugs off her clothes, Jackson goes to investigate the view; Minka pulls one of the books off the shelf, leafing through it with a curious eye, before setting it on the desk.

I don't know when it is that I fall asleep, but I'm startled awake by a crash outside. It takes me a few moments to adjust to the dim light from the city—

But there's no taillight. Which means no Jackson.

Careful not to wake up True or Minka, I tiptoe out of the room and down the stairs. All of the lights are out, now, so I have to watch where I step. I bump into a few chairs and tables before making it to the kitchen, and then to the small door that leads to a back alley.

A fist slams into my stomach, knocking the air right out of me. I start to discharge energy, but a burst of flame shoots up ahead of me, interrupting my charge. Jackson looks down at me with narrowed eyes and tight lips, and brings a claw to his mouth. "Quiet."

I have to force myself to breathe, to calm my heart down. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

"Practicing."

I have no idea what he means, until I look around at the holes he's dug in the grass. "It's the middle of the night, Jackson, can't this wait?"

"I've waited. I can't wait anymore." The Charmeleon pushes me aside with a growl and turns to the ground, claws outstretched in front of him. "We're going to fight Surge soon and I'm not ready."

"You shouldn't have to worry about that," I say.

"I'm the only one who can beat him. Minka's too slow, Clara's not strong enough. And you won't fight."

The worst part is that he's right, but there's no way I'm going to admit that to him. Against an electric-type gym, we'd need strength and speed. Jackson had that, and something even more dangerous: he had something he needed to prove.

Who he needed to prove that to, I wasn't quite sure. But I had a hunch.

Without warning, Jackson dives toward the ground claws first, his paws already scraping furiously in front of him. He finds purchase, and disappears with a growl. The light from his tail-flame hadn't been a lot, but it had been light—in this dark alley, even a candleflame would have been appreciated. I can smell churned earth but I can't see anything—

That's when he erupts from the ground, just a yard or two away from me. With the sudden light, I see his drooped posture and the weariness of his body. He's panting hard, and he might even have been shaking—I can't tell if it's him, or if it's his light, but it worries me.

"You're making a fucking mess."

Both of us turn to see Britt watching us, her ears erect. Jackson's taillight grows so that I can see the agitated look on her face, the gleam in her golden eyes. "People walk out here you know. Cover these holes up and come back out when you can actually see what you're doing."

Whether it's because I'm feeling overly protective or because I'm not thinking about what I'm saying, I hear myself say, "He's practicing."

"He's doing it wrong."

I narrow my eyes. "How's he—?"

But she ignores me completely. "You fighting Surge?" she asks, turning to Jackson. When the Charmeleon nods, she continues, "They're experienced when it comes to fighting Diggers. You need to know what you're doing in order to get it right—and you won't know what you're doing if you're weak on your feet."

She walks up to Jackson, absolutely fearless, and shoves him. He snarls, lunging forward with an open mouth—but Britt slams her shell into his snout, sending him flying head-first into one of the holes. "You want to train for a gym leader fight, and you can't even fucking take a Tail Whip. Go to bed."

Jackson manages to pull himself out and stand on shaking feet. "Should I fill—?"

"I'll do it. Go to bed. Dream of fluffy clouds and expensive chocolate. Eat those damn waffles in the morning. Then we'll get to work."

She and Jackson stare at each other for one long, awkward moment before he finally relents, opening a smaller door and squeezing back inside. There isn't much light to see her by now, but judging by the sound of scrabbling dirt, she's already getting to filling the holes. "Be easy on him," I say, "he's had—"

"Like I said, I heard all about you. And I've met plenty of guys like him who think breaking things fixes everything. The last thing that kid needs is a free pass to do whatever he wants."

She's saying things that I know, that I should have been saying; but I'm robbed of my reason by her "this is the way things are" attitude, and without that I'm left to saying dumb shit. "But—"

And again, she interrupts me, kicking dirt with one stubby foot. Upturned soil lands by my feet. "It's been a long few days for you, too. Eunice likes getting up early, so go to bed. You need it."

There isn't much I can do without her screaming anymore, and we've already made enough noise—which is strange, because I would have thought all our ruckus would have caused someone to wake up. But eventually I slide through the opening in the door and walk through the kitchen and living room.

It's dark, and I can hardly see anything—I have to go by touch to get up the flight of stairs. I'm careful not to brush against the framed pictures on the wall. It takes all of my willpower to not try and find that picture of the smiling dark-skinned boy, of the overly confident Raichu and the fierce-eyed Electabuzz, but I finally turn away with sparking cheeks.

"It's going to be there in the morning," I whisper to myself, before turning my back on that wall of ghosts.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

It takes a few hours of staring at everyone else for me to realize that I'm not going back to sleep anytime soon. For the first while, I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that I see stars. I listen to the sound of everyone's breathing: the fluttering whistles from Clara; a few murmurs from Minka; growls from Jackson, accompanied by the sound of him shifting against his blankets. I listen to the wind blowing through the trees, and drunken slurs.

I listen to True's shaking gasps until they finally settle into quiet whispers, until part of me dares to think that this will be how she'll sleep at night from now on.

Finally I get to the point where I can't take the sound of the others lost in their own dreams, and jump off of the bed. The faintest bits of light are breaking through, signaling morning. Britt had said that Mr. Pokémon was an early riser, but surely an old man wouldn't get up before five if his career didn't depend on it.

It's a short distance from the edge of the bed to the plush ground, and I land without a sound. Clara stirs in her sleep, and I freeze for a few tense moments; when she doesn't move anymore, I pad my way softly past her, slip through the opening in the door, and head down the hallway.

There are so few windows and it's still so dark that I would have to either flip a light on or wait even longer to see any of the photos in detail. But if I concentrate... I take a deep breath and focus, releasing just enough electricity for me to produce a soft glow of light.

It doesn't take me very long to find them.

Hours might have passed. I wouldn't know. I stare at the flexing Electabuzz, and the smiling boy who looks equal parts nervous and equal parts "I'm gonna take over the world, and nobody's going to stop me!"

But for the most part, my eyes are fixated on that Raichu, his mischievous green eyes and the freckles on his arms and that familiar "I'm such a badass" stance. I've avoided his picture for so long that I've almost forgotten it. The picture's too far up for me to touch it from the ground, and there's no way I can reach it from my place on the railing.

"I wish you were here," I hear myself murmur, because that's as much as I'm able to do.

"But I am right here, kid."

I have to fight to not release any electricity; I succeed, but instead of electrocuting someone, I fall off of the railing. Leathery hands grab hold of me quickly, placing me back onto the banister before I can discharge.

When I turn, Mr. Pokémon's amused face stares back at me. "See a picture you like?" He turns to the wall of photos with a sad smile. "They've all got quite a story, if you're interested."

I have to look at the huge display of photos before something clicks in my head. "Did you... know all of them?"

"Yeah." He points to a row of pictures at the very top, somewhat peeled and black-and-white. "I was a just a little boy when my grandpa took those pictures, but I was there, when he had just built this place. They didn't have a Center like they do now back in those days, so Trainers would stop here for a bit of rest, a home-cooked meal. All I'd ask is a photo, to remember them by. And, well, I never seem to have let go of that habit."

"But why?"

He closes his eyes. "I met most of these kids when they still have that _spark_ in them, that they can do anything they set their minds to. Before they got to some point in their lives where they decided battling wasn't for them, that they had other responsibilities and dreams. Only a handful of 'em would ever earn all of the badges to be able to compete in the Pokémon League... and only a handful of _them_ 'd ever get to face the Elite Four."

I don't realize that my eyes have drifted to _his_ photo until Mr. Pokémon notices and laughs. "That Chris Mancon, though, I knew right when I saw him he'd make it. Started off with a Raichu and took the League by storm. 'Course, that was—"

"Ten years ago," I finish.

I feel his leathery hand against my shoulder—this time I don't discharge, but I tense up under the touch. "Sure was a fantastic battle. And that Raichu was a damn good Battler."

_Was._

It's only when I hear footsteps that I look up and wipe my eyes. It's only because of the glow that I recognize a sleepy-eyed True as she steps out of the room in her pastel pajamas. "I heard talking. Is everyone okay?"

"Ah, yeah," Mr. Pokémon says. "I was just telling Casey here some stories about the people in these pictures. Recognize anybody?"

He does seem to know every trainer in every picture. True laughs when Mr. Pokémon points out a very young woman with red hair, posing in front of a tiny Seel and a cardboard-cutout of an Articuno. "Wouldn't believe it, but that girl would become part of the Elite Four."

"No way," True breathes. "How young is she there?"

"I'd say about fifteen or sixteen?" Mr. Pokémon asks. "And if you think that one's funny, you should take a look at young Koga..."

He talks and talks until the others come out of their rooms. Professor Oak adds a few stories of his own, and even manages to pick out his own picture. I hadn't seen it before: he's stronger in the upper arms, and obviously less wrinkled, but that quirky smile is still there. There are only a few pictures of the younger Oak in the laboratory, and most of them are from when he had begun his research career—seeing him now, with a smiling Charmander on his shoulder and a flustered-looking Pidgeotto at his side, feels weird.

When Clara pokes her head outside of the room, we all decide that it's time to get started with the day. True and Mr. Pokémon mix the batter as Professor Oak grabs plates and bowls from the cabinets.

"How many places should I set?" Professor Oak asks, his hands full of plates.

Mr. Pokémon looks up from his mixing bowl full of eggs. "What's that?"

Oak raises his voice, accentuating every word. "Should we expect anyone else besides us?"

"Oh! No, Fara's out doing things and Britt's doin'... well, I dunno. But she hates waffles anyway, so she'd be gone either way."

It doesn't take long for Oak to set the table; when the two of us go up to see if we can't help, the two chefs shoo us away. "Let me baby you for a little bit, Casey," True laughs. "Just relax."

By the time the tables are set and the food is ready, Minka and Jackson have stumbled from the room. Minka's brought down one of the books and rests it on the table when True and Mr. Pokémon bring out all of the food: cheesy eggs, waffles loaded with strawberries and whipped cream, bacon. True has to go back for a pitcher of orange juice and a few bowls of Pokechow, for any of us who want any.

Clara's the only one who takes one, and even then she only nibbles on it before turning her eye to the bacon.

We shovel food into our mouths instead of talking, because the last few days had meant raiding vending machines and nibbling at our dried food. Everything melts in my mouth, and I eat and I eat until I don't know what empty is anymore.

Minka turns to True with a smile. "Have you always cooked like this?" Minka asks, sipping from her cup of water with gusto.

True blushes, but she smiles as she says, "Not always. My...someone in my family was a really good cook, and I learned from him."

It's amazing that he can talk around his huge bite, but he manages to spit out some words. "So what's the plan for today, kiddos?"

True looks to me, and when I don't react, she shrugs. "I wanted to get some training in, but—"

"Well, then training it'll be!"

From her seat at the lower table, Minka narrows her eyes. "Every time we've gone out, we've been met by the reporters."

Oak nods. "You're right, Minka. But if there's one thing I've learned in my time as a prominent local figure—"

I have to fight to keep the apple juice from spraying out of my nose. "Since when have you called yourself a celebrity?"

In that stupidly boyish way of his, the Good Professor grins. "I wouldn't use that term specifically."

"You keep telling yourself that," I say, and roll my eyes.

True groans, but when I turn to look at her there's the faintest hint of a spark in her eyes. No smile, but that gleam is enough for me right now.

"What I was _saying_ ," Oak continues, "is that you sometimes have to be creative with how you get away from prying eyes."

"Sammy here used to be the best at sneaking away," Mr. Pokémon says. He takes a huge gulp of water before adding a teasing, "Back when he was a younger man."

The Professor chuckles. "We did get in a fair bit of trouble, Mr. Pokémon and I. But it's because of those antics that I know how to get around."

"The way you knew how to get here from the Pokémon Center?" Minka asks, stealthily sneaking a strawberry off of True's plate.

"Precisely," the Professor says.

"I still don't understand how we're going to be able to get ready for this gym battle," I say, standing up on the table. "Or even how we're going to schedule one."

That's when Professor Oak stands up, brushing some crumbs off of his lap. "Leave that to me. I still have some business in town that I have to take care of, and I've been meaning to talk to the Lieutenant. I'll schedule your battle while I'm out and send word over the phone."

"Fantastic!" Mr. Pokémon slaps his hands against the table, startling all of us. "While he's off doing that, Britt and I'll be overseeing your training."

True lifts her head up from her plate—which is suspiciously lacking in strawberries; I only have to glance over at the red stains on Minka's mouth to know where they've gone—with her eyes narrowed. "Where?"

Mr. Pokémon just chuckles. "There's more to this building than pictures and fluffy couches, my dear. We'll just leave these plates and head downstairs."

True opens her mouth to argue, but when Clara hums happily at the suggestion, she sighs. "But if everyone is still out there, where...?"

Mr. Pokémon pushes himself away from the table, moves past the food-free plates, and stands next to one of the couches. Very casually, he leans against the sofa, tapping his foot in a four-four rhythm. He does this for a few minutes, and as he does I can't help but wonder... well, if he's in his right mind.

But suddenly, the floor just in front of him seems to almost pull back, into an opening wide enough even for Clara. And just underneath the floorboards—

"Stairs," Minka breathes.

Mr. Pokémon hardly has any time to react before Jackson's pressing his nose against the floor, his eyes huge. "Where'd it go?"

"If I told you," the old man says with a smile, "the trick'd lose its magic. Now don't everyone go all at once!"

Jackson's the first one down, taking the steps somewhat awkwardly. Clara shuffles close to the edge, lowering her head down into the opening. Jackson's excited "You have to see this!" rings down from the bottom—either that means it's safe, or the Charmeleon has developed a sudden interest in traps.

I still don't know what to make of Mr. Pokémon... but the Professor isn't protesting us going down there. And I trust Oak.

True is still sitting down when Minka starts to make her way toward the stairs. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of my head, and I lean into the touch. "You seemed weird," she murmurs, glancing back to the wall of photos. "Did... something happen before breakfast?"

I look again at Mr. Pokémon, who lifts his head with interest. Rather than say anything, I just shake my head.

"You can't keep that Charmeleon of yours waiting, True," Oak says. His hand hovers just above her shoulder, then pauses; when True turns to look at him, her cheeks flushed, the hand withdraws. "I'll be back at dinner with your appointment. But sometime today... you might want to call your mother."

Minka's voice rings from the opening: "There's a phone down here!"

True nods, standing up and pushing her chair in. "Thank you," she says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ears. "For getting me out of there."

His smile is sadder, wearier, but it's there all the same. "I'm sorry it had to happen to you at all, my dear."

I hear Jackson whine True's name, and that's finally enough to encourage her to start walking. She's halfway down the stairs when Professor Oak clears his throat. I turn on the second step. "Have you made your decision yet?"

I close my eyes. Take a breath. "I still... need time."

He sighs. "Before I leave, Casey."

I don't look at him when I go down the stairs.

Someone has already turned on the white lights that run above our heads. My eye is drawn first to the empty space in the center of the room, before ringing around to see a wide assortment of exercise equipment. Minka has her vine wrapped around a tiny dumbbell, and lifts it up and down experimentally.

In the far corner, Britt is attacking what looks like a straw dummy, alternating between her fists and her tail. She seems so focused on her training that she doesn't notice us until Mr. Pokémon exclaims, "One of my sons put all this equipment in, just so I could entertain my guests. All you kids are so interested in battling these days, so I figured..."

"I don't understand though," True asks. "I thought Pokémon Fan Clubs weren't...?"

"Pokémon Battling Clubs?" Mr. Pokémon asks, chuckling. "We're not. But the way I figure, there's a difference between healthy exercise and having 'em tear each other to bits. In the days before official Pokémon Gyms, this is where you'd come for training."

"When you aren't beating up the local wildlife," Britt chimes in. She's rubbing a patchy towel against her neck as she walks towards us, panting.

"There's that too," Mr. Pokémon admits with a chuckle. He turns to the five of us with a happy grin. "All this is ready for you all to use, so feel free to take a few whacks. I'll just go on up and finish those dishes off, see if I can't grab the newspaper—"

"It's on the coffee table," Britt calls out.

"—And read it while you're getting adjusted. Thank you, Britt."

I don't know why he'd decide to leave the six of us together in a room full of punching bags and dirt, but before any of us can ask, Mr. Pokémon is already climbing the stairs back up to the main floor.

"Old coot," Britt sighs.

"I suppose we can just... get started?" Minka suggests, eying a two-step ladder with curiosity.

Clara pokes at one of the punching bags with her beak, chattering to herself. Jackson comes up beside her and punches it—the bag flies away from the impact. He looks at us with a confused look on his face—

"Don't take your eyes off that!" Britt shouts. But she's already too late—as fast as it had recoiled from Jackson's blow the bag slams into him and Clara. The both of them are sent flying back under the blow, and land hard on the ground.

True and I jump up and run towards them; she's immediately on the ground, brushing hands over heads and checking for bruises. That's when I suddenly hear laughter; immediately my head snaps toward the Wartortle, who stares at me with... a stony face. Not a trace of mirth.

So I look down, and get my answer: Jackson's still on the ground, his arms sprawled out, as he laughs and laughs and _laughs_. Clara and True are looking at him like he's grown a second head, but either the Charmeleon is completely oblivious to how crazy he looks, wild-eyed and cackling, or he doesn't give a damn. He just laughs and laughs and laughs, until I think he might actually choke on his laughter.

"He needs to calm down!" Minka says, bounding up next to us.

So Clara does the only sensible thing: she gets up and slaps him with her wing.

"That's not what she meant," True says weakly.

We all inch back a little bit as Jackson picks himself up, one eye slightly scrunched up. He looks at Clara with narrowed eyes; his nostrils are flared, and his teeth are bared, and if I was that Fearow I would _not_  be staring so calmly at the growling boy. But that's just what she does: she stares at him, her wings slightly open in a sort of _bring it on_ gesture.

"I won't hurt you," Jackson murmurs.

Clara lowers her wings, sighs, and steps up to the Charmeleon. When he tries to take a step back, the Fearow wraps her wings around his body, pulling him in close. She teases the bit of skin on his shoulder as he chuckles.

Minka chuckles happily, wiping her eyes with her paw. True meets my eye and we both smile.

"If you're done with your hug fest," Britt yells, "you can get started with training."

Clara releases Jackson with an amused warble, and both of them turn toward Britt with a shrug.

We alternate between dashing and aiming and punching until our limbs are sore; even I'm feeling lightheaded after some accuracy training. There isn't a clock down here that I can tell, but it feels like a few hours have passed. Finally , Mr. Pokémon brings down food for all of us. True takes the opportunity of quiet munching and not-so-quiet exclamations from Jackson and Britt to move back to one of the corners and call her mother. It's hard to make out her words in between jests and almost-blows from the two hotheads, but I can see her smiling—she even laughs once, which surprises me.

I might not know exactly what they're saying, but I can hear snippets from True's end: "We're okay. No. Yes. Love you."

By the time the rest of us are finished eating, True has come back to us. I brush crumbs off of my face and look up at her, smiling. "Everything alright with your mom?"

"She's been really worried," she says softly, "but I think she's okay, for the most part. No one's come and bothered her yet."

It's as good a thing as any, for right now—if there was a woman who knew how to think quickly on her feet, it was Inza Retune.

Minka smiles, brushing her face off of crumbs with a vine. "That was a wonderful lunch, Mr. Pokémon, thank you."

Mr. Pokémon grins from his rocking chair. "Glad it pleased you. So what're you planning on doing now?"

Jackson tilts his head, like he doesn't quite know the question being asked. "More training."

The old man laughs. "Yes, Jackson, but what kind of training? There's only so much you can do with a few bags and weights."

The orange-red lizard blinks for a moment, thinking about something, before answering. "Battle with others?"

True's looking at Mr. Pokémon with a confused expression on her face, which is perfectly matched by Clara and Minka. But my eyes are narrowed as Mr. Pokémon looks toward Britt. "I'm thinking that lovely lady there could give you a few pointers on how to battle against Leader Surge. If you're still interested, that is."

Jackson opens his mouth to speak, but Britt beats him to the punch: "I get to beat an angsty little brat to a pulp? Sounds like a plan."

Mr. Pokémon chuckles. "Not so fast, kid. You two're gonna fight... but it'll be a trainer battle."

Britt and Jackson both look up, but it's Britt who answers him. "The fuck do you mean, trainer battle?"

"True'll fight with Jackson and try to beat you."

"Do I get to fight by myself?"

Mr. Pokémon considers this for a minute before shaking his head. "She needs experience fighting other trainers, not free-thinking hotheads."

I expect Britt to say something, but she simply turns away from Mr. Pokémon to stare at True. True doesn't back down from the Wartortle's angry expression; she stands her ground as Jackson comes to stand in front of her, his claws twitching excitedly.

When I finally think that Britt is going to do something, she sighs. "Fine. Let's see what these kids've got."

We all walk to the cleared-off space; Minka and Clara settle relatively quickly, their eyes focused on Jackson and True. But I find my eye drifting toward the other side of the battlefield. Mr. Pokémon adjusts his overalls calmly, as though he isn't about to engage in a battle—Britt, on the other hand, is so focused on the Charmeleon in front of her that I don't know if she's even breathing.

It seems so... out of sync. You'd think that a Pokémon who spent so much time with a man would seem more... I don't know, in tune with her trainer.

"Take your best shot," Britt taunts, her tail fluffing up behind her.

But then again, maybe he isn't.

I turn to True, who nods. "Jackson, try for a Leer!"

"Tail Whip!"

Jackson widens his stance and glares at the approaching Britt—she seems to take no notice, though, as she slams her tail against Jackson's face. He flinches, but this time he doesn't fall; he grabs her by the tail and spins the now-flailing Wartortle around.

"Touch my tail again, fucker!" Britt howls, before firing a Water Gun straight at Jackson's face.

He throws her away to cover his face with a howl, wiping his face frantically; Britt lands on the other side of the arena, her legs flailing in the air. She rocks back and forth on her shell for a few moments, swearing furiously, before finally stopping.

But that can't just be _it_.

Even True looks hesitantly at the still Wartortle. "Try your Dig attack," True says. "Push her back up."

And just like last night, Jackson dives underground.

And then, without any prompting, Britt starts to laugh.

"That girl is insane," Minka says. "What could she be thinking?"

Mr. Pokémon chuckles. "Are you hanging in there, Britt?"

"Oh, you know," Britt cackles, "just taking a break. Waiting for—"

As if that was the invitation he needed, the ground erupts and Jackson springs from the ground just below Britt. They both fly through the air, Jackson with a clawed paw outstretched and Britt slapping her tail back and forth against Jackson's head. It quickly becomes a battle of swipes and growls and bites as the two of them fall back down to the ground. Dust is thrown up with the impact, and by the time it settles Britt and Jackson are tangled in each other, snarling.

"Let's finish this, Britt. Bubble."

"Jackson—!"

Several more bubbles are fired directly into Jackson's face—but Jackson fires an Ember so strong that I can feel its heat from here. Clara screeches and Minka gasps, and I feel my throat suddenly close up.

Britt falls to the ground.

Jackson pushes away from the fallen Wartortle and growls.

True brings her hands to her mouth and starts shaking, like she's about to cry. Immediately I rush over to her side. Jackson looks at me with angry eyes, his chest heaving, before turning back to a slightly-charred Britt.

"She's... she's not—?"

But Britt just groans, pushing herself up from the ground with an amused look on her face. "Like fuck am I going to be taken down from a little fire."

Even Mr. Pokémon looks a little startled, but he shakes his head and collects himself. "That Charmeleon certainly likes to fight. Was he your Starter?"

True shakes her head. "No, I found him just outside of Cerulean. He... just came out of the grass."

Mr. Pokémon approaches us warily, his hands shaking. "Might I...?"

True turns to Jackson, lifting her eyebrows up. When Jackson nods, True turns to the old man and says, "I guess, yeah."

His hands stop shaking when Jackson doesn't bite at him immediately. I watch intently as his leathery fingers trace the shape of Jackson's eye ridges, the back of his skull, the long, thin horn on the top of his head. His touch must be feather-light, because Jackson's eyes close contentedly under the attention.

"He's definitely wild," Mr. Pokémon says. "Perhaps even—"

The phone's shrill ring makes all of us flinch. Clara warbles back at it, while Minka just shakes her head.

"Did you want me to get that?" True asks. When Mr. Pokémon nods, she gets up to answer the phone. There's a bit of hesitance, a few "okay"s and "I see"s before she finally ends the conversation with "See you later, then," and hangs up the phone.

When I look at her, she grins nervously, her fingers still twiddling with the phone cord. "Professor Oak's coming back soon, but he wanted us to know that our gym battle is scheduled for this Saturday."

Jackson perks up at that. "When?"

"Early—seven in the morning."

Minka tilts her head to the side. "So early?"

True shrugs. "I suppose—"

"It's so those freaks with cameras don't show up, you idiot." We all turn to Britt, who's managed to wipe away the soot on her face with pawfuls of dust. "Surge is a Gym Leader who likes to finish fights fast. That's just the kind of guy he is. But he's also got a shitload of things to do for the city. Damn good thing you have Professor Oak vouching for you; he's probably the reason Surge is even taking your battle."

I can feel my cheeks sparking as I walk toward her. "Shut your goddamn mouth, you—"

"Casey, enough!"

True's hands are shaking and her lip is trembling, but her eyes are focused and clear and sure when I look up to them. "We can't... we can't do this right now. We have until Saturday to train. And... we need that gym match."

"So we sneak out at night—"

"We can't do that," True says, gripping her forearm with her hand. "I don't want to be stuck here either, but we... we have to stay here."

With his eyes looking at me.

Jackson nods. "And we'll train?"

With his stupid grin and his goddamn voice in my head.

"We'll train," True promises.

But I can't stay in this fucking house with this annoying-as-hell Wartortle who glares at me, and the pictures of dead kids and dead Pokémon looking at me every time I go upstairs to sleep. Because I can't sleep, I won't sleep, not here in this house where he's been, with his picture and him—

And I can't. I can't fucking _do_ this anymore. "I'm going upstairs."

Even when I hear Clara's surprised call and Jackson's shouts of "Where are you going?" and True's "Casey, come back!" and even Minka's soft "Let him go" I don't turn back. I head up the stairs and into the living room, and start to make my way to the kitchen, to the alley, to somewhere far away from here where I can sort my thoughts—

But without any warning, my head feels like it's made of rocks. I sway, trying to steady myself, but just the tiniest shifting of my weight unbalances me. I fall to the ground and my head crashes on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

I open my eyes to flowers, first. They tickle my nose with their painted petals and strong fragrances, until I sneeze and send pollen flying everywhere.

With every blink shapes become clearer: the blur of dark green is grass, swaying in the faintest of breezes; the pale blue is the sky overhead, spotted with white wispy clouds. There are other pops of color that aren't flowers: balls and figures and brightly painted banners.

It takes me a while to recognize the place, but as I look around, things click into place. Without the playful cries of young Pokémon or the drawl of the Breeders, the Solaceon Daycare seems empty. It sets me on edge.

The ranch had been large enough to get lost for hours and have no idea where the main house was—I don't know if that's changed because I've grown up, or I've seen what "disturbingly huge" looks like. When I touch the fence, curls of white paint rise up and peel away from the wood. It's in need of a paint job, or a stripping, or something. It's sad.

"I have to be dreaming," I mutter. I look up and around me and see nothing but flowers and grasses—it seems to expand for forever.

But there is always something to a dream. I remember a dark-haired woman saying that, once, when she had been working at the lab as an intern. You don't just dream up the place you were born and raised and have that mean nothing.

Which means I have to search for the reason.

The grass isn't long, but when I'm down on all fours it tickles my nose and cheeks. I only have to look toward the trees to see pairs of Combee flitting around each other, stopping only to collect pollen on their boxy bodies. Even when I'm close enough to touch, they seem to just ignore me.

So I keep walking. And I keep walking, until I see a round figure sitting on top of a rise, staring up at the sun.

Like the idiot I am, I approach it. Slowly, at first, because I don't know who it is.

And then faster, because I realize I _do._

He's not the Raichu from the picture on that goddamned wall—even though his back is towards me, I can tell he's older than that, just by a touch. Though his fan-like ears perk up, he doesn't turn his head to face me when I get close enough to smell him—and it smells like him, singed fur and hot cocoa and wind.

This has to be a trick. This can't be real.

My body's low to the ground and I'm on all fours as I get closer to him, until I can start to see the pale freckles on his dark orange fur.

It can't be real.

It shouldn't be real.

But he turns to me with his grass-green eyes, and he _laughs—_ loud and long and clear—and it's exactly like I remember.

And in one feel swoop I feel like I'm about to throw up and cry and laugh all at the same time.

"I didn't think you'd ever look so old," Al teases, brushing his paw along the top of my head. "What the hell happened, man?"

I don't know how to answer at first, or if I can—my heart is beating so quickly and it feels like it's caught in my throat.

"C'mon, spit it out," he teases. "Unless a Glameow got your tongue?"

Ponyta could be stomping on my and he'd find a way to make a joke out of it. It's so much like him, and that should be comforting, but I'm just so on edge because _this should not be happening_.

Because he can't... there's no way...

I'm finally able to force words out, and to my surprise they actually  _sound_ like words instead of a garbled mess. "I don't... Why're you here, Al?"

His ears twitch with surprise. "I dunno, where am I?"

I don't know.

This has to be a dream or something. It's in my head.

His words distract me. "You want me to go?"

" _No_ ," I shout, grabbing onto his freckled arm. "No, I don't... I don't want that."

Al nods his head and laughs. "Then lighten up," he says, plopping into the grass like it's nothing at all. "Relax a bit, and enjoy the sun while it's still out. Feels good on your face, don't it?"

I'm going to throw something at his fat head. "You can't expect me to just stare at scenery when you're—"

"Dead?"

He's not bloody and burned and lifeless. He's here and he's alive.

But this is in my head. This isn't reality.

I have to press through the pressure in my throat to answer him. "Well... Y-Yeah."

He leans on his side, looking up at me with those mischievous green eyes. "Which means I can look at this pretty scenery all I want, right?"

I nod hesitantly.

"Starin' at clouds is nice and everything, but it's a hell of a lot better when you've got company to watch it with." He brings his paws to rest underneath his head, and as he turns onto his back, he chuckles. "'Sides, it seems as though you need time to unwind."

"But—"

"Case," he sighs. "Shut up and look at the fluffy clouds."

I finally decide to lean on the grass next to him, back off the ground. He's there and he's breathing and he's _alive_ , and for a few minutes I don't stare at the grass or the flowers or the clouds—I stare at his chest that's rising and falling, and his eyes that are bright and open and lively, and that contented look on his face that's the perfect blend of happy and smug.

When I can't stand not knowing anymore, I ask, "Where... am I?"

He turns to look at me with a shrug. "Dunno."

"Do you know _anything_ about what's happening?"

Al looks up at me with a curious look. "You're the one who's got the pretty fantasies and the big dreams."

"But you're..."

"I'm still dead," he says, like I'm a little kid who can't understand something stupidly simple.

And it is simple, I guess. I could dream for the next thousand years and my brother would still be... not with us.

But I've known others who have died. Kerri and Peter. The unlucky Starters who had the misfortune to be paired with unskilled or reckless trainers.

_Why him?_

Al pushes himself up with a sigh, and rests one of his paws on my shoulder. "You need to let me go, bro."

_No._

I can feel the electricity burning in me, and it tickles my cheeks even as I flinch away from his touch. "You can't ask me to do that."

His eyes narrow. "I can, and I am. I've been gone for—"

"Ten years," I blurt out.

He nods. "And that's a damn long time to be holding onto the past."

But I can't.

"No."

He pulls himself off the ground with a sigh, and as brushes the dirt from his thighs he looks right at me. "You've been thinkin' about me every damn day—"

"And that's my damned business, isn'it?" I hiss.

He growls, folding his arms across his chest. "Arceus, Case, think about it, won't ya? You can't even see how much you're missing out on because you're so _damn stubborn_!"

"So when you're too stubborn to stay in a battle you can't handle, it's different?!" I scream.

Sparks ignite from his cheeks, so bright and brilliant that a normal person would take a few steps back.

But I stay right where I am.

"We're talking about you here, Case, not me."

And all of the words I've been wanting to say rip out of me. "You think proving yourself 'gainst a damn _monster_ would make you famous? You too stubborn and confident to not realize you were out of your league—"

"I was chasin' a dream—"

" _You_ were the one who was too stubborn to call it quits, and _you_ were the one who decided to fight with a huge fucking wound in your leg, and Chris tried to get you out, do you know that?"

His eyes widen, and it's him—my brother who fought against dragons and giant birds and snakes and other beasts of Pokémon—who takes a step away from me. "I—"

"I-I watched my brother get burned t'... t' _nothing_ and I couldn't say nothing, 'cause you were... and I... I didn't..."

My head falls down.

"An' I didn't even get t'say g'bye."

I can't even see him through the hot, sticky tears that are dribbling down my cheeks. I wipe them away with a grimace, and I feel paws on my cheeks I turn my head up to look up at him. His own eyes are glassy but he's not crying, the _jerk_ , and instead he's just got a paw under my chin and I can't do anything but look at him and try to not go into hysterics.

"None of us went into that battle knowin' what was gonna happen. If we did, I wouldn't've gone out. I didn't do it to... t' _spite_ you or anything. I went chasin' a dream I'd had for forever. And in the end..."

"Don't say it," I say.

But he does. "I'd rather have gone out doin' something I loved, instead of sittin' around lettin' my life fly by without me."

"I don't—"

But he interrupts me with a laugh, and it's so infectious that I feel myself smiling. "Y'know I didn't think anybody'd be able to get you out of Pallet Town," he says, "but one girl with somethin' to prove to herself is able to get you out. And you've helped her build a team that's got potential—"

"So she should be strong enough to go on without me!"

"And what'd happen then?" he growls. "She'd be out exploring the world and having the time of her life, and you'd be back in Pallet Town doin'... what?"

Helping kids. Living a quiet life that doesn't involve watching friends get hacked to pieces or traumatized or _die._

"It's a scary, fucked-up world, Case. But nobody should have to go through it alone."

I lower my head. "So... you want me to stay with her."

"I do, but I'm not talkin' about her, kid. I'm talkin' about _you._ "

I flinch, but Al's arms wrap around me and suddenly I'm engulfed in his embrace. The smell of him and the tightness of his hold is so strong that I almost melt into it, and nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck and try not to shake.

"True or Cassidy or anybody, I don't care. But you need somebody who _ain't_ to hold you down to this world, before you go off the deep end. You've been lookin' after everybody else, but all this time you've done nothin' to help _you_. It's time to let me go and get on with your life."

But how do I know what my life even is supposed to be? I'd been happy working with the children in Pallet Town, sure... and I have loved working with Professor Oak in the lab. That had been my life, and it had been a good one. Just because Al hadn't liked staying in one place for too long didn't mean that I wanted to travel all around the world, and get myself into awful situations.

Then again... I had never expected to see the inside of Mount Moon. Or actually be inside a gym, watching Pokémon I knew personally win glory and fame for themselves.

I never wanted to see anyone _die._

But I can't deny that journeying and breathing and  _living_ hasn't been an okay thing. _  
_

"How do I know if this is... what I'm supposed to be?"

"I can't tell you that," Al says. "But you can't just stick to one path of life, you have to try all of them. And then you make your decision. Doesn't have to be right now; try a little bit of battling, then do some care-work. Maybe even start a family. You don't know until you try, Case."

"But then—"

"Look. Change comes slow, unless you're evolvin'. But you can't just... you can't forget who you are. That's what trainers' journeys are all about—you find yourself and your limits and you become a better 'mon because of 'em."

I close my eyes and sigh, grabbing onto his arm. "I'm still... I'm _scared_ , Al."

I feel his tail flick against mine and flinch, but Al just laughs again and pats my back. "Fear's not a bad thing. But just remember," he says, "you've got a team who'll be able to pick up the slack and help you out. And a trainer who thinks the world of ya." He pulls himself away just enough to look me dead in the eye, and it's the most serious I can remember seeing him. "You think you need me, kid, but you don't."

I'm stung. "I'll _always_ need you."

"Not the way you did before. I'm still gonna be your bro, kid... But it's time to stop clinging on to me like a lifeline. You need to learn how to sink or swim on your own."

My head feels like it's going to explode, and I don't know if that's because I'm feeling so overwhelmed by everything that's going on—but then I see the colors start to drain out of the ground.

When I turn toward Al, he's still solid, and I can feel him, but the color is leeching out of him. It's only when I start to see the outlines of the trees and the floating Combee that I realize he's fading, and immediately I feel myself start to panic. "What's goin' on?"

He takes a few steps away from me. "You're wakin' up, bro."

"But you can't _go_ ," I say, like it's his fault that he's leaving me again.

"I'm never gonna really leave you," he says, even as his voice begins to fade away with him. "Just don't forget to live, before you die without doin' somethin' worthwhile."

The greens and the blues and my brother are gone.

And then I fade away, too.

* * *

 

"Go get True, he's waking up!"

"Don't crowd around him, give him some space to breathe."

I don't open my eyes to green grass and cloud-free skies, but to blotches of creamy-yellow and red that sharpen into walls and curtains. I turn my head, and blink as the blue-green mass on my side focuses into Minka's concerned face. I lift my arm up to prove to myself that I can—and it's still there, and I can't see through it.

"How long...was I out?"

"A few hours," Minka says, pulling her vines back toward her. "True went to try and chase you, and... Well, you'd passed out on the kitchen floor."

"We heard you moaning," a snarky voice adds. I look up to see Britt looking at me with an exasperated look on her face. "Something about—?"

"I know," I interrupt. The room spins a little, but I'm able to push myself up from the plush bed. "Everything else is okay?"

"Fine," Minka soothes, lending a vine for me to support myself on. "Mr. Pokémon wanted to bring you to the Center, but the Professor... he said something about just letting you rest for a few hours."

Britt scoffs. "Probably because you looked like you were gonna pass out anyway."

Minka looks as though she's close to slapping Britt to next Sunday, and it's enough to make me smile, if just a bit. "Haven't seen that for a while," Minka murmurs. I look away, but I hear her chuckle.

We all turn toward the door at the sound of footsteps. My eyes fly straight past Mr. Pokémon and Jackson and Clara to stare at True, who launches herself at me with shaking hands. "I thought I told you not to do this anymore."

It's a repeat of Cerulean, I realize, with her on my bed and trying to reassure herself that I'm still alive.

"Just can't get the hang of this, can I," I murmur.

She pulls me in close to her chest, and again my head finds its way into the crook of a neck. I stiffen, but when True whispers something into my ear—nonsense words, almost-silent words that shouldn't make me tear up again but they _do_ —I relax and close my eyes again.

"I can't do this anymore," True whimpers. "I can't keep losing you."

But I've been here, I want to say. "I'll be okay," I murmur.

She doesn't say anything in return; instead, she presses her cheek against mine and just begins to tremble. I hear Clara's feathers rustle as she moves toward us, and feel the sharp poke of her beak against my back. I glance up to just catch a glimpse of her eyes, already red and teary.

I'd thought that I'd been here to support her, but... maybe I haven't been.

I thread my fingers through her wavy strands of hair, and as I do she looks down at me, her own fingers ghosting over the back of my neck. "I get worried."

"And I'm an idiot," I say. "I know."

"You're not an idiot," True sighs.

"A moron then?"

"Well, _I_  think you're a moron," Britt says. Someone shushes her—Minka, probably, though I'm sure the solid WHACK came from a wing.

"But he's okay?" Jackson asks.

"He's going to be fine, I'm sure."

I lift my head up to see the Professor peering into the room. "We'll have to keep an eye on him for a few days, and he probably won't be doing much battling—"

"He doesn't do that anyway," I hear Jackson growl.

"But he should be just fine. I heard he was up very early this morning... and had gone to bed late."

Jackson mutters something I can't hear, but when Professor Oak narrows his eyes at him, the Charmeleon looks away.

His eyes meet mine and his eyebrow quirks up.

_Have you made your decision?_

_Time_ , I want to say, _give me time._

But I've had enough time.

And even though the words shake they are loud, and they are mine. "I'm not leaving."

True's eyes grow wide and her cheeks flush, but my eyes drift over to Oak, who smiles brightly and nods. "Then I suppose, to celebrate Casey's... recovery, we should get some pizza."

Britt's voice rings from the hallway: "You better be going to Ciseros!"

Clara caws in agreement, while Minka pulls a face. Jackson just tilts his head and hurries past Professor Oak, his curious "Why Ciseros?" following him out the door.

Professor Oak just shakes his head with a grin and turns to the rest of us. "I'll tell you on the way. Is pineapple-pepperoni alright with you all?"

I still feel like I'm going to throw up, so I shrug while True and Minka nod.

"Then if it's alright with everyone, I'll take Mr. Pokémon, Jackson, and Britt with me to pick up everything. Anyone else who wants to come is welcome to."

The yearning gleam in Clara's eyes is obvious enough for everyone to notice; when True gives the Fearow permission to leave, the excited cry makes everyone laugh. Clara chirps happily and nuzzles True's shoulder before trailing after Jackson—she almost hits her head on the ceiling in her excitement, and hisses menacingly before disappearing.

"You can go too, if you want," True tells Minka.

But the Ivysaur just shakes her head. "The three of them will be enough of a team to carry back pizza, I should think. Besides," she says, wandering back over to the shelf, "there are a few books here I'd like to peruse through."

"It'll take a while to read them," Oak chuckles. "We should be back in a little while."

I wait until the group has left and the house is quiet before pulling away from True. She loosens her grip and I fall back onto the bed; True rests with her back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling.

"Do I... can I ask what was going on?" she asks shyly.

"With what?"

"Downstairs. Or," she says with a sigh, "I guess everything."

I close my eyes and fall onto my back. If Minka's listening in, she's keeping herself quiet; the only noises I hear is our breathing, and occasionally the flipping of a page.

"Were you... Were you serious about staying?"

My heart starts beating quickly again, and I feel my arms start to shake, but I'm able to nod as I open my eyes. "I probably won't be much help as far as battling... but I'll... I'll try."

True laces her fingers over her stomach as she looks at me. "Can I ask what brought on the...?"

"Change of heart?"

She nods.

"It was... it was a lot of things. That I'm not ready to talk about them yet."

She looks disappointed as she turns away. "I see."

So I roll over until my side is pressing against her back. "I promise you, True, I'll talk about it. You just... I've been keeping this in for a while. You've gotta give me time."

True flips onto her stomach to look at me. "Do you promise?"

I hold out my paw for her to grab, our not-so-secret handshake. "When the time's right, I'll tell you everything."

"May I say something?"

The both of us look up to see Minka staring at us from behind a heavy gold-and-silver volume.

"It's important for you and True to be a strong, cohesive team, and I understand this, but... if this information has any chance of affecting us in battle, I think it's information that should be shared. Perhaps not in front of the Professor, or Mr. Pokémon... or members outside of the team," she adds, shaking her head. I know immediately who she's talking about. But she looks up at us—no, at _me_ —with sharper eyes than usual. "You can wait until you feel ready. Just _tell_ us."

I don't respond. True's the one who beckons Minka over, and together the two of them pour over the book—a collection of portraits of legendary Pokémon from Kanto and Johto. I can hear them talking, but I don't process the words—I don't pay attention to the legends they recite, or even to the beautiful watercolor illustrations.

I don't really respond to anything until I hear the door opening and the jovial cries of the others, and I can smell pizza downstairs. We have seconds until someone rushes up to come get us—and we don't even get that, when Jackson screams, "NEW FOOD!"

Minka puts the book down with a sigh and a chuckle. "That took them quicker than I had expected."

"Empty stomachs," True says, which makes Minka laugh.

"Minka?"

The aged Ivysaur looks up at me as True rises from the bed and collects me in her arms. "You'll at least think about it?"

We're just to the door when I nod. "I'll tell you."

The others have already crowded around the two boxes of pizza—Mr. Pokémon and Oak have to shield their slices from Jackson and Britt, while Clara pecks at the box inquisitively. Mr. Pokémon is laughing when he spies us coming down the stairs, and jovially throws his hands up into the air—that's enough for Britt to swipe his slice of pepperoni-pineapple and chow down, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

_"You've got a team who'll be able to pick up the slack and help you out."_

True grabs two slices of pepperoni-pineapple and offers one to me. "Want to split?"

_"And a trainer who thinks the world of ya."_

I bite into the skinny corner and flavor bursts into my mouth. It burns the roof and I scream and almost spit it out—everyone's laughing and looking at me, and even Britt seems to be enjoying having us around.

_"It's time to let me go and get on with your life."_

I don't know if I'll ever be able to let him go.

But I think, maybe, I can start living again.


	29. EXTRA 1: First Meeting

As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Pallet Town is only good for two things: the region's only Pokemon Research Laboratory, often cited as one of the best in the known world; and for the Beginning Trainer Sendoff ceremony in May.

The town and its citizens have been in a scramble to get everything presentable for a national audience. Buildings have been painted, fixes have been made, flowers have been planted and arranged, the grass has been mowed. The few tourists that make the trip to the city are catered to, and the artisans make a good percentage of their yearly wages in selling goods. It's a chaotic mess compared to the lackadaisy slowness that everyone is used to, but almost everyone is excited for this, considering--barring a spectacular trainer competing in a League tournament--it only happens once a year. 

I couldn't have given any less of a damn if I'd tried, but it means I don't have to think about the other thing happening in May.

The kids are out of school for their summer break, which means I'm effectively out of a job until term starts again in August. For a lot of kids over the age of ten--and with the money to afford a trainer's license and the money for starting supplies--this means they'll finally be able to go off on their League journeys--a lot of them will be back by the time the Kanto League Tournament begins in November, having fallen on their faces and experienced the horrors of being a Pokemon Trainer. There might be a few who earn all of the badges, but almost none of them make it to the Elite Four matches.

I don't trip on broken glass bottles and bits of roots, but I feel suffocated with all the extra bodies pressing against me. I have to fight to keep from getting trampled--they don't mean it, but they're big and I'm, well, not, and there really isn't anywhere for me to go. Eventually I get trapped in a group of gossiping teenagers, who throw their hands up excitedly and proudly display fake badges and "Support Team ___" buttons. And that can only mean one thing.

"Pool still open for bets?" a lanky boy asks, pulling a fist full of money out of his pockets.

A short, rounder girl takes the wad of cash, smiling deviously. "Who're you putting it on?"

"Smith, man. Did you see that Blackthorn battle with her Arcanine? It took out that monster of a Kingdra!"

A blonde-girl rolls her eyes, tossing her mane of hair into the face of a disgruntled-looking dark girl. "Only because it was still tired from that match against Jefferson and his Meganium. That's who I'm putting my money on."

When she's done spitting hair out of her mouth, the dark-skinned girl shoves herself into the conversation. "Yeah, but I hear Champion Mancon is going to do an exhibition battle!"

For fuck's sake.

"I don't know, he's been doing all that traveling, hasn't he? He going to have time to come back to oversee the opening ceremonies?"

"It's the Johto battle, idiot. Kanto's not until the winter."

"Kanto and Johto are practically the same thing. Hell, I don't even know why they don't just combine the leagues at this point."

Finally there's a gap just big enough to squeeze through--I push myself out and run without looking back. The path turns rougher, and rocks dig into my palms. My legs feel like they're on fire, but I can't stop--and I don't, until I collide into a pair of dirt-stained blue jeans. I hear a shriek, and I look up in alarm--

Only to sigh, and try to start my heart again. "The f--hell're you doing here, kid?"

Gentle hands pick me up, and I open my eyes to see a wide mouth full of braces and playful green eyes. True's wavy hair has been pulled back into a low-hanging ponytail, and brushed so much that it gleams in the light. Her clothes aren't anything fancy, a simple yellow long-sleeve emblazoned with an orange Vulpix silhouette with those jeans and her favorite tennis shoes.

"Are you going somewhere important?" True laughs. "You almost scared me to death!"

I can't stop myself from shaking just yet, but I feel my heartbeat start to get somewhat closer to normal. "If you'd call Oak's important. I'm just... running."

The girl's only eleven years old, but damn does she have that "please tell me you aren't serious" face down pat. It's a perfect replica of her mother's. "Running," she repeats, arching her brows.

It's not like I'm the paragon of physical fitness, so I guess she has a point. "Not for fun," I amend. 

She nods sagely, convinced, and places me back down on the ground before starting to dust off her pants. "But you're okay though? You seem kinda... well, weird."

"I thought you said I was always weird," I retort back. She just laughs and shakes her head, crossing her hands behind her back. "But anyway, what're you doing here? I thought your dad was back in town for only a few weeks or something."

Her face almost seems to light up--or maybe that's the sun reflecting off the metal in her mouth. "He's coming in a few hours, but Mom's so busy cleaning the house and making sure everything's all perfect." If her hands were free she'd probably air-quote--instead, she settles for rolling her eyes. "She was driving me crazy, so I had to get out. I just stopped by Oak's to see how all the Starters were doing."

The Ceremony is in two days, and by now I probably should have introduced myself to the newest batch; but it's not like they're ever going to see me again, and frankly, I don't feel like meeting Pokemon who are doomed to come back with broken spirits or bones. Or not even at all.

"Well, you don't want to miss him just 'cause you were talking with me," I say, and smile.

"He's been wanting to meet you, though! You could... you could come, if you wanted."

My eyes narrow. "You nervous about meeting with him or something?"

She shakes her head. "No, just... I don't know."

Richard Fargone had a habit of disappearing for months on end, only to come back home for a few weeks here and there. He'd bring back a lot of presents, judging from the haul True would always show me whenever we visited--toys and clothes and souvenirs of his travels. Nobody was quite sure what it was Richard Fargone did, but whatever he was doing, he was obviously doing something right. Except being in town to actually raise his kid. It was old hat for the family, but still. It sucked not having your family with you.

"He going to let you go off on a journey this year?" I ask.

Some of the light dims from her eyes as she shakes her head. "I don't know. Mom doesn't want me to go still."

Most of the kids who were True's age had gone off on their journeys already--some had already come back. It was a scary world out there; I couldn't blame Inza for not wanting to let her daughter go. "She's just trying to protect you."

True's already thinking about something else, because she doesn't look at me as she says, "Next year for sure. I'm gonna ask him."

It wasn't my fight. It wasn't my decision. So instead of try and smack that idea out of her head, I just sigh and nod. "Well, tell me when you know," I say gently, "and I'll come see you. If I can fit it into my busy schedule."

"Between eating and napping?" True teases, poking at the splash of freckles on my arm.

"They're important things to do! And you have to remember to do it, too, before you get old and cranky."

"I swear, sometimes you're worse that Mom," she accuses with a laugh. But she puts me down with a smile and a nod, leaning down to scratch me behind the ears. "I'll come see you at the lab tomorrow!" she says, before skipping down the dirt path.

I watch her run down with a chuckle. When she disappears from view, her hair flying behind her, I turn back to the lab. The path has been cleared of any rocks, which makes the trip easy-going.

The familiar hustle and bustle of the laboratory aides is good and I feel safe, even if I have to worry about getting tripped over again. They're usually pretty good about keeping an eye out underfoot for me, though, and I'm usually careful to keep an eye out. One too many tangles with a few chemicals had taught everyone to keep their eyes focused while walking. The Good Professor is probably locked in his study doing something boring.

The layout is simple, especially when I've been here as long as I have. It's all white walls and pipe and the roar of electronic machines, but there are little bits of color thrown in to distinguish one room from others. And, thankfully, most of the chaos can be contained to one part of the Lab--I only have to turn a few corners to get away from most of the activity, until the roar of voices is reduced to murmurs. A familiar brown box draws my eye; with a grin, I pluck an apple from one of the bins. The red flesh doesn't give way under my pressure, and I sigh delightfully. My stomach growls with anticipation, and I have to stop myself from watering.

I'm just about to take a bite when I hear a high-pitched "Casey!" echo down the hallway. I look up to see Mark, one of the newer lab assistants from Celadon. Seventeen years old with an incurable case of bedhead, he was easy to pick out from the crowd of middle-aged techs who usually walked around.

"Mark," I say, raising an eyebrow.

He stops just short of me, grinning. "I'm glad I found you. Listen, you know the latest batch of Starters that came in a few days ago?"

"No."

"Well," he says, completely oblivious to the stony look on my face, "one of them got into an accident. She can't take part in the ceremony and go off on the journey, and--"

I set my apple down gently on the ground before glaring up at Mark. "If you're askin' me what I think y're askin'--"

He holds his hands up, his eyes wide. "Oh, no! No no no, I'm not asking you to substitute. We found a last-minute replacement anyway. You remember Farce?"

A gullible-as-fuck Nidoran who was content to smash his skull into rocks. "Yeah, I've had the displeasure."

He winces. "He's going instead of her. But I was actually wondering if you could help me out and keep an eye on her."

"Do I look like a babysitter to you?"

"You look after those kids at the school, don't you?"

That's voluntary. That's a way to kill time. It's one thing to spend time with human kids--it's a whole other thing to spend time with other Pokemon. By myself. Probably with nobody else around.

"Ah, come on," the bright-eyed boy says. "Everyone else is off doing other things, with everything that's going on with the ceremony. And she needs a friend right now."

I look back down to my apple, and, with a sigh, hand it to Mark. "Fuck it. Fine, take me to her."

What kind of trouble can a kid get into with a broken leg, anyway?

In between "Thanks so much!"s and "You're doing me a huge favor, I really appreciate it"s, Mark leads me to a pale-colored room. Once upon a time, or so I'd heard, it had been a guest room for one of Oak's nieces or nephews who had spent their summers working in the lab. The room hadn't been occupied in a while, and now it was mostly used for storing boxes. At least, that was the official use of the room--every now and then we'd find a few squirrelly interns who liked to... spend time together.

Maybe with a sick Pokemon claiming the room, there wouldn't be as many... incidents.

Mark opens the door quietly and pokes his head in. "Hey, sweetheart, I've got a present for you."

A quiet voice answers him: "No more medicine?"

Mark smiles. "Not for another few hours. No, I brought you something way better than that."

Since when the hell am I something to be given away? I look up to see Mark staring down at me. He's flashing me a thumbs-up and his eyebrows wiggling--the whole thing's frightening at best, and I have to fight to keep myself from gagging.

From behind the door, I hear something shuffle and land on the floor. "Am I supposed to come out for it?"

Before I have any chance to respond, I'm shoved into the room. You wouldn't guess it from Mark's tiny twig arms, but he's got a bit of power behind him--I land flat on my face as the door closes behind me, and groan as I bring a paw up to my face. Nothing feels broken, but my nose feels pretty sore and I'll probably get a bruise on my forehead.

I'm making too much noise to hear anything approaching--when a light touch brushes my arm, I bolt straight up, discharging a light shock.

"I-I didn't mean to scare you!"

I take my paws off of my face and open my eyes. The room itself is rather unimpressive--bits of pale walls can be seen in the spaces between the stacked boxes, which are by far the most dominating feature. Instead of the boxes and stacks of paper that are usually on the tiny bed, there is a tan-plush Pokemon bed. There's even a little set of steps leading from the ground to the mattress.

But's the small, absurdly fluffy Eevee shaking inches away that catches my attention. Her fur is fluffed out in fright--I have to search to find her eyes, a warm honey-brown. She's not a small thing, by any means, but she's definitely young. That's not something that surprises me; if she's supposed to be a Starter, she's not going to be more than a few years old.

"Uh," I start to say, before looking back up on the bed. "Were you up there?"

She nods shyly.

When a few moments have passed and she hasn't said anything, I sigh. "Are you supposed to be up there?"

It takes a second, but she nods. "You fell down, and... There are steps."

I rub my cheek. "Well, I'm fine." I look back to the small flight of steps and shake my head. "You shouldn't have come down here just to check on me." 

She tilts her head. "Why not?"

"Because last I heard, you're nursing a broken leg."

Her ears--either too big for her head or just as fluffy as the rest of her--fall, and she looks away. "Does everybody know about that?"

It's not a small lab, but everyone who works here is a major gossip, so... "Nothing to be ashamed of," I say, and shrug. "We work with dangerous Pokemon and do serious research with chemicals. It happens."

I can almost feel her face fall. She brings a paw up to rub the side of her leg, and looks down at the floor with a big sigh. "S'not fair though."

Yeah, well, nothing's fair. And I almost say that, but the second I see her eyes start to water I stop. She looks disappointed enough, anyway; she doesn't need me rubbing her face in her broken dreams anymore. So instead of saying something I'll regret, I walk toward her, keeping my arms crossed. "Well, you're not going to get any better if you don't get back on the bed and rest. Up you get."

The cast is only exposed when she turns toward the bed; her right backleg has been taped up nice and tight, which probably makes moving a bitch. But it'll help her in the long run. She moves up the steps one at a time, taking each one with a slow and steady confidence. She sighs as she settles back into the plush bed, squirming with relief, and I chuckle. "It's a good enough excuse to take it easy for a little while."

"If I have to rest another day I'll go crazy," she whines, settling onto her left side. "I'm only allowed a little bit of exercise--"

"Which is why," I say, "y'shouldn't have come down to see if my stupid face was okay."

She blinks, then laughs. "Yeah, but what if it wasn't?"

"Then I wouldn't be here on this bed with you," I say.

"Or you would be, with your face all taped up."

That one actually does make me laugh, a real one that I can feel in my chest. "Maybe so, kid. But the point is, I'm not. And you need to stay up there. Here. Wherever."

She shrugs, and looks up. Someone had taped up a few glow-in-the-dark stars onto the ceiling--it's probably an old relic from when people actually used to actually sleep here, but part of me is sort of blown away that they'd still keep them up instead of tear them down.

"The real stars are prettier," she says softly.

I turn to her, quirking my brow. "These aren't supposed to be real, y'know."

"I know," she says, "but I wish there was a window or something. I haven't been cooped up in a small place like this before."

"You came from a breeding center?"

She nods. "Papa and Mama finally let me come out here to be a Starter Pokemon. But the guys in the white coats say that I can't go out until my leg heals." She arches her head over to look at her cast, and sighs. "I've still got a week to go, and by then it'll be too late."

She couldn't have broken it at a worse time, if she really did want to be a Starter. I knew a few who did, even though they weren't considered "prime beginner Pokemon."

I was in the system, so technically, I could go out with a kid who had nothing to his name but his hopes and dreams. That's what I would have done a long time ago. Perhaps with a bit of hesitance, sure, but you can't have a crop of Starters be just as overzealous as the kids. I knew better. 

But she didn't, and really, it was none of my business if she wanted to go out and risk her neck or not.

"Um." She looks up shyly as I glance back over at her. "I didn't really... catch your name."

Well hell, now I look like an idiot. A mean idiot. "Uh, Casey," I say, extending an arm.

She looks at it for a few moments before catching my eye again. "What're... why are you doing that?"

It's not like it's dirty or anything, for the love of Arceus. "That's how I greet people."

"I didn't... I thought that's how humans greeted other humans." She blinks once or twice before extending her own paw as far as it'll go, inches away from my outstretched one. "Maybe things are different outside of breeding centers."

My cheeks are warm. I let my arm fall. "They're not." When she opens her mouth to reply, I just shake my head. "It doesn't matter. What's your name?"

"They didn't really... give us names," she says shyly. I'm not surprised; it's common for "cute and popular" Pokemon that are meant to be churned out for maximized profit.

"So what, are you waiting for your trainer to give you one?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, I... my breeder really loves--loved," she corrects, "listening to music. She'd play the radio all the time when she was handling us, and there was this show... it wasn't really anything special. But the girl who talked all the time was named Cassidy, and I... kinda liked it."

"Cassidy. Huh." I look her over and chuckle. "Suits you."

"What does that mean?" she whines. There's a teasing glint in her eye, though, and it makes me chuckle.

"It means I'm trying t'give you a compliment," I say.

"Well... thanks. I think."

"Don't worry that pretty little head too much now."

The fur along her neck bristles as she lifts her head up and glares at me. "Are you saying that just because I'm a girl?"

"Well--"

"'Cause I bet I could kick your butt in a battle!"

I sober immediately, and look away. "Little kid like you probably could."

"I'm not a kid, either!" she says, but by then I'm already off of the bed and on the floor.

"Being a kid isn't the worst thing in the world," I say, and look up. "And not going on a journey isn't the worst thing either."

There's a stack of boxes next to the door; I hop up the stack until I'm high enough to reach the doorknob. "Where... where're you going?" Cassidy asks.

I swipe at the doorknob, and miss it by hairs. "I'm not tall enough to reach the TV. Someone else can put on the League battles on for you, since you're so interested."

My fingers just graze the dull brass when I hear it.

"Please don't go."

I look over to her, and have to do a double-take. Her eyes are wide and hesitant, and her ears are pulled back behind her head. I hesitate, pushing myself away from the door.

"I... I don't know what I said, but... it's my first time being alone without anybody else. And... I'd really like a friend."

My eyes close. I put a paw to my forehead and massage it for a few minutes. The words sit between us for a few minutes before I'm able to acknowledge them properly. "I'm a shitty friend."

"Well. I won't know until we try," she says quietly.

It's slow-going and my legs feel like lead, but I make my way down the stack of boxes, across the wood floor, up the little step-ladder, and to her bed. Her ears perk up as I sit beside her bed, and I feel my own ears mimic the movement. "You may regret this, you know," I say. "Just a warning."

But she just smiles and laughs and shakes her head. "Okay."


	30. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Saturday morning starts at 5:30, with a shrill ring from the Pokédex alarm.

At six, the team is downstairs, nibbling at Pokechow and slices of toast. True is the last to join us, pulling her damp hair into a low-sitting ponytail.

I bring her a piece of toast as she falls into the couch. "Big day."

She stares at me for a little bit before taking the toast. "Yeah."

Mr. Pokémon practically sings "Goooood morning!" as he hobbles down the stairs, Britt at his heels. "We all ready for an exciting gym battle?"

Minka and Clara hum contentedly; Jackson looks up from his half-eaten bowl and blows a puff of smoke. True nods as she begins to eat her meager breakfast.

"Good, good. Now remember all of the training we put in, kids, and try not to get your butts whooped."

The red flush from her shower drains out of True's face, and I glare at Mr. Pokémon. "We'll be okay."

"Not if you're late," Britt scoffs. "Which is why I'm taking you to the gym."

Minka clears her throat behind us. "I do remember there being signs, so if you don't want—"

"I do want," Britt growls. "I'm going with you."

My eyes narrow. "How far?"

" _How far_ ," she mocks. "To the gym, Fainting Wonder. Are you deaf?"

"Britt," Mr. Pokémon sighs, "enough. If you can behave, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to have you tag along."

The Wartortle mutters something under her breath—Mr. Pokémon just laughs.

I glance toward the clock and sigh. "Looks like it's time to go."

Mr. Pokémon hands us a plastic bag, filled to bursting. "Figure you won't be coming back here after the gym battle, so here's some supplies for ya. Use 'em wisely, and let me know when you get where you're going safely."

Minka takes the bag from him carefully, and smiles at the older man. "Thank you."

"For everything," I add.

Mr. Pokémon smiles warmly. "If you're ever in town again, be sure to stop by. We never did get that picture, after all."

"We'll come back," True promises, slipping the plastic bag into her backpack.

As she shoulders the heavier bag and everyone starts to file out of the Pokémon Fan Club, I turn to Jackson. He keeps his distance away from us, and is the one to close the door. His eyes are fixed on the ground as he moves, sluggishly, to follow the sound of Britt's high-pitched voice.

I walk beside him, only tall enough to meet his thighs. The claw-sharpening he's done over training has paid off: the bone-white claws have been filed down to needle-sharp points. They're intimidating, and I have to swallow the bile that's rising in my throat to get the words out. "You can be nervous, if you want."

Jackson turns toward me with narrowed eyes. "I can't be nervous."

"Who says?"

"Me." He looks down at his paws, his lips drawn tight over sharp teeth. "I can't be the little Charmander I was before."

There are words that I could say, but I can't grab at them—so I just sigh and shake my head. "There wasn't anything wrong with him," I say gently.

But Jackson shakes his head. "No."

He doesn't say anything else as we make our way to the gym. None of us really say anything as we follow Britt, who glares at a few curious passerby. True and Jackson walk side by side, her fingers trailing over the brow ridges above his eyes. It's Minka who really fusses over him, though; she runs a vine over his shoulders, the side of his head, despite his flinching away.

Brightly-colored signposts lead us in the right direction, which means we probably could have done without Britt's offer to help. But we follow the Wartortle anyway, passing bakers putting out their freshly-baked goods and shopkeepers sweeping their front steps. The beach glitters ahead of us, so bright that I have to shield my eyes.

Britt finally stops, looking up. "There she is, ladies. The Vermilion Gym."

Vermilion Gym might have passed for any of the other red-brick buildings if it weren't for the pair of stone Raichu statues that stood proudly in front of the entrance. A blown-up Thunder Badge is emblazoned on each bronze door; beneath the badges are identical gold plaques, gleaming in the morning light.

Standing in front of those doors is a tall, heavily muscled man wearing dark sunglasses. Beside him stands a large Raichu. Both of them lean against the double doors as though they haven't a care in the world—they could have been watching the water or waiting for Armageddon.

As we turn the corner, the man lifts up the glasses and stares at us for a long moment before chuckling. "Let me guess," he calls out, "you're the girl Old Man Professor sent?"

"She didn't—" I start, but True shushes me with a quick pat on the rear.

"I'm True Fargone," she says calmly.

Almost step-for-step, Lieutenant Surge and his Raichu approach us. Her dark brown eyes flick up to meet mine before settling on Jackson's. "Who's the fighter?"

Jackson blows a light wisp of smoke from his mouth, which only makes Virginia smirk.

My brother used to smirk like that.

"Gotta say, when Oak told me you were the girl everyone was going crazy over, I didn't picture... well, _you_. You sure you can handle this?"

True takes a moment before answering him. "I am just as capable of fighting," she says slowly, "as any of your other challengers."

He chuckles. "Right this way, then."

I'd seen pictures of some of the other arenas. Each of them usually had some sort of gimmick to it that set it apart: a forest maze; an obstacle course; sprouting geysers; pools; rock pillars. The thing that strikes me is how empty Vermilion Gym is by comparison. Standing in for the mounds of rock and the huge swimming pool are peeling gray walls and the bright floodlights. Even the battlefield is plain: definitive chalk outlines on a dirty battlefield, scorched again and again by high-powered electric attacks.

I don't know if it's because of the thin air or the sight of that Raichu, but I suddenly feel like I can't breathe deeply enough.

Surge looks up proudly, as though this was a mansion outfitted with state-of-the-art technology instead of some little warehouse you could find on the side of the road. "The other gyms'll have their fancy layouts and stupid stunts," the older man scoffs. "Way I figure, a battle's a battle—I don't need to see anything other than how well you command your Pokémon, and how well they respond to you."

True doesn't look like she's going to pass out—if anything, now that she can see exactly what she's getting, she seems calmer. "That makes sense to me."

True and Surge each take their places on their sides of the battlefield, while Minka, Clara, Britt, and I settle behind a thick sheet of glass. I'm waiting for someone else to stand on the sidelines, or for a voice to sound off overhead. "Who's refereeing?"

Surge just laughs. "In my gym, I'm judge and jury. I'll be the one saying how long the battle goes on for, and what rules we'll be playing by."

"This could be problematic," Minka murmurs. Clara nods, ruffling her feathers. Britt just crosses her arms and scoffs.

"Figure you're on a time schedule, so. One-on-one battle okay with you?"

True narrows her eyes, but she nods.

"Then you're up, Virginia."

The Raichu steps away from Surge's side, rolling her arms around and twisting her head this-way and that. "It's been a while since I've had a good battle. Be sure to give it your best shot, sweetheart."

Jackson digs his feet into the ground, scoring the earth with his toes. "I'll give you a battle."

Virginia smirks. "Looks like we've got a live wire."

He adjusts one of the glistening badges on his breast, looking us over with a smirk. "Then let's see how well he can spark."

The breath she heaves is loud, focused—I see her eyes close before snapping back open, and when she turns to Jackson it is with conviction. "We can do this."

Jackson keeps his eyes dead-set on Virginia, but he nods.

"Now let's see," Surge says. "Traditional rules state that the challenger has the first move."

True nods, and opens her mouth—

"But unfortunately for you," Surge chuckles, "we're far from traditional. Go get him, Gin!"

Virginia's fast—not the fastest Raichu I've seen, but up there. As she runs on all fours, her right fist glows a bright, brilliant white—she jumps up with a war cry, and it slams into Jackson's jaw with more force than I'd expected. He reels, howling, holding his jaw between his paws. With a snarl, he releases a fury of flames—she's too close to move away, and the attack hits her square in the chest.

"You okay?" True calls out.

Jackson brings his paws down so forcefully that his claws leave marks on the ground. He spits out a lob of blood and smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "'M fine."

"Some strike," I hear Surge chuckle. "That blow too much for you?"

Virginia laughs—no, she _scoffs_. She brushes bits of burning fur off of her chest, like the attack did nothing. "Like an Ember's enough to bring me down."

True clenches her fist with a growl. The other hand points down to the ground as she shouts, "Then let's see what a Dig can do!"

With sharp claws and furious movements, Jackson is out of sight almost immediately—within seconds, the only thing that's left of Jackson is a giant hole in the ground. Virginia immediately starts moving around, her fan-like ears twitching expectantly.

"Get ready to jump, Gin," Surge warns.

Virginia just laughs, holding her arms outstretched. "I know what I'm doing, Surge."

_"Just watch, Chris, a few more hits and that Championship is ours!"_

"Wait for it," I hear Britt murmur. I look down to see that my own paws have clenched into fists.

He's either dug deep down under us, or there's something about the gym floor, but there's no seeing the Charmeleon until he erupts from the ground, right beside a surprised Virginia. He rises up and swipes, claws gleaming in the bright light—but with more agility than I had thought possible, Virginia jumps five feet away.

"Looks like you need a bit more practice," the Raichu says with a wink. Her fist begins to glow again.

"Jump back in!" I shout.

But he doesn't. With True's harsh "Ember!" a flurry of red-hot flames is released from Jackson's mouth, striking Virginia against her face. She falls onto her back with a screech, holding a paw up to her now-blistering face.

Bile pools in my mouth, and it's all I can do to keep it from spilling on the ground.

Surge's eyes grow wide. "You okay, Gin?"

"Fine," the Raichu says, wiping her brow. "I'm fine. Give me a command."

He glares at Jackson, who spits another lob of blood out, but does not hesitate. "Thunder Wave, then."

There's no escaping the ring of electricity that surges from Virginia. Jackson howls as his muscles start to shake. They seize without warning, and down Jackson goes onto both knees, panting and whining.

I hear Minka whimper behind me, and Clara crow encouragingly. If I move one inch, say one word, I'll throw up.

"Target paralyzed, boss," Virginia says.

"Good. Let's end this with a Thunderbolt."

" _N_ _ow!_ " True shouts.

White-hot bolts strike against the dirt ground and the peeling walls with so much force that my ears stand straight up; Minka and Britt have to dive to avoid being hit, and they land hard on the dirt just behind me. Dust explodes underneath the explosion—my breath hitches as I watch the dust settle, where Virginia stands panting hard—

Where a third hole has joined the first two, where Jackson is nowhere to be found

True's smile is infectious.

Virginia is bowed over herself, her own ears arching up high above her head. Her eyes hit me for one long, charged moment, and I have to remember how to breathe when she looks away from me to search for Jackson.

He erupts from the ground, this time—right under her. I can smell the blood before I see it, arching in a spray high above both of their heads. Virginia is yowling as she hits the ground, pushing her paw against her torn side.

Jackson looks down at her intimidatingly, his claws curled and bloodstained.

And it's so much like that other monster, _that other time_  with another bleeding Raichu, that I focus my eyes away from the battle scene to True.

It's a mistake; True's eyes are wide and horrified, and even from here I can see them glisten. Her hands are up covering her mouth and she's shaking like a leaf, and I have to fight to not run over to her—she's on the battle field and I'm not. Who knows if that would mean I'd be substituting for Jackson? I don't want to have to take that risk.

"Gin?"

Virginia's ears twitch at the sound, and after a long, tense moment, she pushes herself back off the ground. "This one's... strong."

"Can you keep fighting?"

Without a reply, she takes a step forward, her cheeks sparking. Her fists are crackling with electricity as Jackson limps his way toward her, his own claws outstretched. Virginia's punches come hard and fast, fluid compared to Jackson's uncoordinated strikes.

But at one crucial moment, she misses, and Jackson's claws strike her cheek, just an inch away from her throat.

Blood falls on the sandy ground as Virginia falls with a moan.

My heart's in my throat as the moments pass. Virginia's dark eyes very well could be cloudy green, the burns and scratches on her arm accented by freckles—

Surge is at her side in an instant, pulling out Potions and a Burn Heal from his pockets and spraying them all over her. With each hiss of medicine being applied comes a wince from Virginia.

When he finally yells out, "Battle's over," when Virginia pushes herself up with a groan, I'm able to breathe again.

True is slower to move toward Jackson. He looks up with wide eyes, and almost collapses into True's arms. Even after a few potions and a paralyze heal, the bloodied Charmeleon looks weak on his feet. He looks up at True and whines something that I can't hear, but I see True nod and hug Jackson, rubbing her hands over his back.

When I wonder if Surge has lost the ability to speak, he stands up and approaches the two of them. "Intense battle, kid. Not many challengers have taken Virginia out that quickly."

 _That quickly?_ Misty and Brock had been far from pushovers, but this battle had been terrifying in a different way.

True looks down at the ground, then up to Surge, then finally back to the ground before she answers. "Will she be okay?"

"She'll need time to heal, and I won't be able to battle with her for a little bit. But she's going to be fine."

"I'm _right here,_ " Virginia says.

Surge chuckles, but the color in his face still hasn't come back yet. "Do you want to do the honors, then?"

The Raichu nods. Surge lowers something shiny onto her palm; Virginia swipes it and walks toward us, a little wobbly on her feet. She stands there and says nothing until True lowers herself to her level, and only then does she extend her paw. The gold-red badge gleams underneath the harsh floodlights. "It is my honor to bestow you, Trainer True, with the Thunder Badge."

True takes it into her palm and bows her head. "I'm... thank you."

Surge and Virginia don't say anything else, so True starts to walk away. It's as if it's broken a spell—we all rush over toward the two. Clara practically collides into Jackson, folding him in her feathery embrace; he doesn't flinch away, but grabs onto her and whines. Minka, Britt, and I are slower to meet them, but True smiles at us with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile.

I rush up to climb on top of her shoulder and sigh. "You did it, kid."

"Thanks," she says.

"Word of advice."

We all turn to see Surge standing off the ground, cradling Virginia in his arms. "Wouldn't hurt to learn how to control that Charmeleon. Brute force worked here, takes more than brute force to win the next few gym battles."

The floodlights had drained the color out of everything else, but True's face flushes crimson. As she stands up, her hand grips the strap of her backpack tightly. "Thank you."

Surge glances up and sighs. "Match shouldn't have taken very long, and there shouldn't be many people out on the streets. If I were you, I'd get a move on, and fast."

* * *

 

Britt's victory screech is the first thing that comes out of the gym doors. " _That_ was a lot better than I thought it'd be. I really didn't think you all would be tough enough to serve Surge's ass on a platter, but _damn_."

The way she was going on, it was like she was the one to deliver the final blow. Perched on True's shoulder, I glare down at the triumphant-looking Wartortle. "You didn't even fight."

"And?" Britt scoffs. "That was a battle that should have been televised."

"You and Jackson both were very good," Minka says with a smile and a look toward True. "You should feel proud."

Some of the light has come back in Jackson's eyes; there's even a smile on his face as he bends down to take another pawful of dirt and wipe it onto his arms. "She was hard," he says, as he scrubs his arms furiously. "But it was fun."

"So now the question is," Britt says, "where do you go next?"

True's cheeks are still flushed, but she takes a breath and sighs. "I don't know."

"I thought after beating the local gym, the idea was to, I don't know, move on to the next one."

"We just had a tough battle against a gym leader," Minka protests. "Give Jackson a chance to recover."

"He got himself healed up, and he looks fine. What, are you all not in a hurry anymore?"

The longer we stayed out in the open, the greater the chance a reporter would find us again. And as much as we needed time to recollect... "Much as I hate to agree with Britt, she's got a point. The supplies Mr. Pokémon gave us should last us a few days in the wild. I doubt anyone'd come to follow us outside the city."

Britt looks just as surprised to hear me agree with her, but she quickly recovers with a nod. "And the next gym's in Celadon. It's just a quick walk through Saffron to—"

"Lavender Town."

Britt narrows her eyes as she looks up at True. "Do all of you guys have hearing problems? Celadon's the one with the gym. The only thing that's in Lavender is the—"

"Graveyard," True says slowly. "I know."

Jackson's arm stops moving as he looks down at the ground. "Is that where...?"

My eyes close. There's no telling if the bodies from the SS Anne attack had been taken there—it's protocol, I know that much, but there's always a chance... "We'll see."

"Then we need to start going," True says. "Does everyone want to be in their balls, or walk?"

Clara prods at True's belt, until her beak presses her ball and she is absorbed in a flash of red. Jackson, to my surprise, follows suit. When True goes for Minka's ball, the older Ivysaur shakes her head. "I need some time to stretch my legs."

"Okay." She turns toward Britt and waves awkwardly. "Say... say goodbye to Mr. Pokémon and Professor Oak for us?"

Britt says nothing in reply.

"Lavender Town awaits," Minka says softly, and finally True turns.

We don't even walk five steps before a firm voice asks, "Any chance I can get in one of those things, too?"

We all turn slowly to look at Britt, who stands with her paws on her sides. I blink once or twice and repeat the question. "You mean a Pokéball?"

"Yeah. I've had enough walking around for a while, and I hear those things are comfortable."

I have to close my eyes and count to ten before I can reply. "You... can't want to be a part of _our_ team."

"Do I have to glue a neon sign to my forehead to get you all to understand?" she scoffs. "Let me make this crystal clear, then. I. Want. In."

She looks down at the Wartortle and takes careful care to meet her eyes for a long, quiet moment, before finally asking, "Why?"

Britt narrows her eyes. "Because I'm bored just staying here. I've had enough of running errands for medicine. I need to get out. You're a strong team that won't force me down—mostly because none of you have the balls to do it—"

"Keep an eye on that mouth before it runs away from you," Minka says.

"And," she adds smugly, "you need a strong water-type like me."

True sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"True," Minka says hesitantly, "if I may—"

"I'm the trainer, Minka," True says. "And... if she can promise—"

"Anything," Britt says immediately. "I'll play lapdog and fight to the death, if that's what you want."

True's eyes fly open, and she glares down at the Wartortle. "Nobody else is dying, and I don't want a lapdog. I want a teammate who knows how... who can work _with_  us. Not against us."

Britt looks at her for a long moment before smirking. "I can try to do that."

"There's this thing called technology too," I add with a grin, "that can get you sent back here in ten seconds flat."

She only laughs. "Duly noted. Now suck me up in one of those things, I need to check out my digs."

True's hand is hesitant when she plucks an unused Pokéball from her bag. The red top gleams in the sunlight as she throws it at Britt's head. With a satisfied grin, Britt is finally absorbed in another flash of red light; the ball teeters once, twice, three times, before clicking shut.

" _CAUGHT WARTORTLE_ ," the Pokédex chirps.

True hesitates before slowly making her way to the motionless Pokéball. "Do you... Did I do the right thing?" she asks quietly, turning her head slightly to meet my eyes.

Just as softly, I reply, "You're the trainer."

True sighs.

"But I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you," I say, pushing my cheek against hers.

I can feel her smile as she strokes her hand against my back. Minka looks up at us with a content look on her face, before turning away from the sea and to the east. "From what I can remember, there should be a path that leads to Lavender Town."

"Do you know how long?" True asks.

"It could take as long as a week. But it's near water, so there should be plenty of food in case our stores run out."

True leans down to take Britt's Pokéball off the ground, and pins it onto her belt. "Then I guess we should get moving."


	31. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Despite what the Birdkeepers will tell you, flying is not the best feeling in the world. The clouds are _not_  puffy balls of cotton candy, but vapor that chills you to the bone; the air is fucking cold when you're flying quickly, and when you're flying, there's no flying slowly; there aren't any supports—unless you deck out your mount, and I have a feeling Clara would balk at the mere thought of it—and it's super high up, enough to make Kanto seem a lot smaller than I had thought.

It was a smaller region than some of the others, sure, and maybe I wouldn't have minded if I was in a plane. But I'm not. So.

I lose the feeling in my paws long before we start to see Lavender Tower in the far-off distance. True had managed to get her hair into a messy bun, so I don't even have that to hold on to—but she's pulled out her coat from the bottom of her backpack, zipped it up high over her neck; it's loose enough that I'm able to grab on and hold on for dear life. Her own arms are wrapped around the base of Clara's neck, and her feet are pressed against the Fearow's abdomen. She's handling it a lot better than I am.

Clara's loving it, though—she twists and turns with every gust of wind, beating her heavy wings joyfully. More than once, she had screeched at a flying flock of Pidgey and tamer Pidgeotto, chuckling when they scattered in fear—and at us, when we had almost been met with a face full of feathers. True had tried to admonish her the first few times, but Clara couldn't have cared any less. Eventually True stopped trying to correct her behavior, and focused instead on holding on for dear life.

We'd gotten lost plenty of times before this. It was one thing to get lost on clearly marked trails—it was another entirely to try and conquer the wilderness. There's only one good thing I have to say about flying: we've gained more ground in six hours than we had a week and a half on foot.

There's not even a thin layer of fog to obscure our view of the city. Rock Tunnel sits low to the north, a friendly reminder that Kanto has more to offer geologically than Mt. Moon. In the actual city, Lavender Tower dominates the skyline, rising far above the rest of the buildings—the only thing that can even compete is the half-built Radio Tower, down near the south-end. As the sky starts to darken above us, the city lights start to flicker on. The Pokémon Center's roof shines brightly below us; the bright red cuts through the haze of almost-lights, a stark contrast to the soft yellow from the other buildings.

"…Pink… Dragonair?" True shouts at me. I do a double-take at True, but she's turned her attention to Clara. "Brown fair!"

I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about. I hardly even notice my ears popping as Clara starts descending toward the launching pad. It's a clumsy landing; True and I practically fall on our faces as Clara skids to a halt. True's just barely hanging on, her arms wrapped tightly around the Fearow's neck—I hang on by the tips of my nubby fingers, crashing hard against True's padded shoulder.

"We need to practice that," I wheeze. True groans a 'yes' and Clara nods.

There isn't anyone on top of the roof to scream at us, but there is an elevator, lit up in the same bright red. True recalls Clara to her ball with soft, warm words, while I run to push the down button. True's only just in time to catch the doors before they close; the lights flicker above us for just a moment before we start our descent.

"I hope we're allowed to do this," True says, as she unzips her jacket.

"We'll find out, I guess." I shrug. I can't tell if this is some weird pseudo-carpet underneath us, or the strangest floor—either way, it feels weird under my feet. I might almost prefer the dirt. "Worst they can do is yell at us."

She doesn't look confident about this, but True says nothing. Her hand brushes against her cheek, smearing a glob of dirt from a bad tumble the day before. "Weird to be back in a city again."

It's a fuck of a lot better than being out in the untamed wilderness. The rest of the team didn't seem to mind—even Minka had seemed at peace with herself. I was the one who always had their eyes out for incoming dangers, because who knew what could attack you in bumfuck-nowhere.

Then again, Lavender Town is still isolated enough so that it still feels like it's not a part of civilization. Kind of.

True lowers her hood and starts loosening her hair from her bun; it tumbles down in knots. A few leaves even fall down between us. She starts to fluff her hair out as the elevator "dings" and the doors open; her hands are still entangled as we step off and out into a short hallway, separating the elevator from the main lobby.

"Where did you see the pink Dragonairs, by the way?"

It takes her a second to realize what I'm talking about; when she does, she stops walking and looks down at me. "What're you talking about?"

"When we were starting to land," I say. "You said something about pink Dragonairs. And a brown fair."

Her eyes narrow for a few moments. "I didn't—wait." She looks up for a moment before she smiles, and starts laughing—silly hearty giggles that take me back to when she was seven and laughing at the Butterfree who had been so bent on attracting a mate she'd crashed into a tree. (The Butterfree had been perfectly alright, and had gotten herself a particularly handsome mate, but True hadn't stopped talking about it for days.) "I was asking you if we should _land down there_."

"Then you should learn to enunciate," I tease, which only makes her laugh harder. "Just keep me on solid ground from now on, alright? I think the high altitude did something to my head."

She holds her hands up and nods, but she's still laughing as we walk into the lobby. There are only a few trainers in the small-sized room, lounging on red-purple couches as they waited for their Pokémon to be healed. One frizzy-haired girl looks up at us for a few moments before turning her attention back to a flashing screen—I recognize a years-old documentary on stone-induced evolutions in the Kanto region. An Eevee, bright-eyed and smiling and far, far, _far_ too young to be choosing his future, is presented with three evolutionary stones; even though I know what happens next, I can't help but watch as he chooses the water stone. He puts his paw on the blue-and-white rock, and is enveloped in a white light...

"Lavender Town should be far enough away," True says, and immediately I'm drawn back to her. Gone is the light in her eyes; she's timid again, looking over to the unmanned front desk. "At least, that I can check into a room without..." She stumbles for words for a few seconds, before finally shaking her head. "Don't you think?"

We hadn't seen any signs of reporters following us, but there was always the possibility. Hopefully there had been other stories when we had left Vermilion—if the only thing on the TV is a documentary, it means we're probably safe. "We would've heard about something by now, I'd think." I gesture to the flickering TV, now going over the biology changes from Eevee to Vaporeon. "They'd all be on to the same station if something big had happened."

She doesn't look too sure about it, but she nods, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Then I'll check everyone in for some healing. Get us a room."

The small ladder that leads from the floor to the main counter is a nice touch—there have to be enough small-sized Pokémon in the city for the Center to include this. I run up the white-painted steps as True steps to the counter. We're met by a tired-eyed Nurse Joy, who pulls up her bubblegum hair into a bun as she greets us. "You need a room and a quick heal?"

"Full heal," True says, as she pulls the other Pokéballs off her belt. "And a, uh, a room too, please."

Joy gives True the once-over and "hmm"s. "'Kay. Just need an ID."

Her hands are shaking by her pockets; I have to look her directly in the eye before she feels calm enough to hand her the card. The Nurse's eyes have been on her the entire time, and she takes a few more moments to examine the ID card. "You need us to do anything else?" she asks, bending down to grab a room key.

True visibly relaxes once she has the card and key in her possession. "No, just that. Thank you."

"Then I'll take your Pokémon in to get healed, and give you a call in your room—"

"I'll be here," True interrupts, "just… I need a shower." She looks down at me, teasing the tufts of fur on my head with quick fingers. "You should get healed, too."

It wouldn't hurt, I guess, so I nod. "I'll be waitin' for you."

I don't make a move until True's down the hall toward the residence wing; it's only when she's out of sight that I allow myself to jump down on the ground. It isn't that high a jump, nothing compared to the tumble I'd just had. After doing a quick scan of the Pokéballs, Nurse Joy releases the others in four beams of white light.

"How long were we out for?" Britt yawns, flicking her furry ears with dulled claws.

"Maybe half a day," I say. "True and I flew on Clara after we tore down camp this morning."

"Why's it that _you_ get all the fun?" the Wartortle sighs, as a Chansey comes to examine her.

"Starter benefit," Minka says, smiling down at me.

Jackson only allows himself to be treated by the chittering Chansey, biting threateningly whenever Nurse Joy even turns in his direction. Clara has to stand right beside him, teasing the rough patches of his elbows, for him to keep calm enough to continue his examination. They're gentle, though, all of them; soon Jackson is just as heavy-lidded as the rest of us, who hardly notice the pricks of needles that sink into our skin.

We're sent back to True with smiles and gentle pats; Jackson surges toward True and envelops her in a clumsy embrace, which she returns with a surprised laugh. We must have been in there longer than I had thought, because her hair is damp and the smears of dirt and grime from two week's hard travel have been (mostly) cleared away.

We all sleep soundly that night.

* * *

 

Only four of us make the trip to Lavender Tower. Britt had flat-out refused to go up, rolling her eyes. "I'd rather keep up with the living," she had said. To everyone's great surprise, Clara had agreed with her. Jackson had pleaded for her to go, but the Fearow had just shaken her head sadly.

Not everyone wanted to meet the dead again. Jackson was very disappointed, but True had kept her hand on his shoulder the whole way to the Tower. It wasn't even that long of a walk, either—we hardly had enough time to marvel at early morning sky before slipping inside.

There's gray marble everywhere—the walls, the floor, and even the few chairs and headstones seem to have been carved from the stuff. Someone had set a bouquet of colorful flowers on the pale-purple reception desk, maybe in an attempt to brighten up the dull surroundings. The strong smell of incense tickles my nose, and I bury it in True's neck to try and replace it with something else. It doesn't help much—she smells clean, but that isn't really a scent.

On the far side of the wall was a staircase, spiraling both up and down—but the part leading up is wrapped with bright-yellow tape, a clear enough sign: do not enter.

"Something's wrong?" True asks, as Jackson whines.

The woman at the counter, a petite thing in black with a shock of electric-blue hair, looks up at us from her magazine. "Nothing awful," she says, seeing the crestfallen look on True's face. "No, they're just doing some stabilizing, sweetheart. This tower's pretty old, and we want to make sure it's still around for a long time."

Almost on cue, I hear a loud chorus of THUMPs right above us. "It's still safe to be here…?" True asks.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't," the woman says, adjusting the collar on her jacket. "Were you looking for a Pokémon in particular…?"

The distance between us and the counter seems wrong, somehow; a few steps closes it. True leans against it, her arms crossed in front of her. We're close enough now to read the silver-blue nametag in front of her: JODI. "A Nidorina, and a Rattata… Kerri and Peter."

The woman's green eyes light up in recognition. "I think I cataloged them earlier this week… they're actually downstairs, sweetheart, if you'd like to go down there."

"Do we… do we _see_ them?" Jackson asks hesitantly. His voice is smaller than I've ever imagined it being, and I feel my breath being sucked out of my chest.

Jodi eyes True for a moment, waiting only until she's nodded to come around the desk. "No, darling, no. You see headstones instead, and they'll have their names and who they are. You don't see any bodies or anything."

Jackson nods weakly. "'Kay."

"If you wanted to wait for a little bit, I could—"

"That's… really nice," True says, "but I think…"

She doesn't have to finish her sentence, thank Arceus—Jodi just nods and slips back behind the counter. "I understand completely. We just put those stones in this morning, so there isn't even any dust on them. No one's down there right now, so you just take as much time as you need."

True looks down with shaking hands and nods. "Thanks."

"There's a bell down there too, if you need me."

We turn away from her and head toward the stairs—the wood creaks underneath us as we walk down, stopping only when we meet level ground again. It smells like freshly churned earth and burning wax—candles ring around the marble walls, throwing warm light onto the graves. You have to watch where you step, so that you don't bump into headstones or even tiny statues—that's creepier than anything else, to see a pair of stone-eyes glaring you down.

It's Jackson who finds them, with a sharp intake of breath.

The stones aren't anything special—there's nothing inherently different about them, other than the personal information. It's twice as tall as I am, so I can't touch the tops of them like True can, but I set my paw against the clean "P" of Peter's name, and fight against the bloodied image that bursts into my mind.

No one had even seen him  _die._

"We burned the bodies," Jackson mumbles beside me. His nose is pressed against the stone, as if that's enough to link him back to Kerri. "At home. I was too little to understand then. We didn't have markers like these, not that I remember."

He doesn't talk about his life before meeting us—I hadn't thought that he remembered it, since he had been so small when we'd found him. Minka presses her head against his forearm, rubbing his leg with her foot.

I don't know how long we stay like that—it might be a few minutes, or an hour. It's silent, except for the sound of our breathing and a broken cry or two.

And then, without a warning, the candles dim. Jackson's tail-flame is suddenly the brightest light in the room, distorting the shadows on the wall. All of us are on our feet, and by that time, a ball of purple gas materializes in front of us.

"You are a trainer, yes?" he asks, hovering close to True's face.

Jackson and I both have to catch her as she falls on her knees, trying to back away from the Gastly. She knocks into a headstone, though, throwing up dust with the collision.

True doesn't move. She doesn't even scream, and I don't know why she isn't, because I am and my voice already feels like it's been rubbed raw. She's still trembling, her eyes locked with the Gastly's pinpricked pupils. I jump onto her shoulder, tugging gently at her hair to move her head, direct her attention away, do something—

But a dark-green vine has more effect than my pulls or words ever would. The Gastly breaks eye-contact and turns to Minka—True almost falls onto the ground, and would have if another vine hadn't wrapped around her chest to stabilize her.

"You'll address this young woman with respect becoming of a proper Pokémon," Minka says, her red eyes gleaming in the darkness. "If you can't, you will answer to me." 

It's the most angry I've ever seen her, and I'm half torn between marveling and keeping True upright. But even with Minka's support, True seems weak on her feet, and so I'm up on her shoulder, forcing her to look at me.

"If he licked you," I growl, "I swear to Arceus—"

"He didn't, he didn't," True says weakly. But that's not enough for me. My cheeks spark as I turn to the floating ball of gas, and he meets my eyes for one moment before shaking his head. "I wouldn't. Not to one I want as a trainer.

No. No no _no_ , no  _fucking way_. Jackson growls in agreement with me, the light on his tail suddenly growing huge and hot. I almost feel my arm blister, and I'm not next to him.

Minka doesn't react, though; her eyes are all for the Gastly, who stares at her just as warily. "What is your name," she says, a should-be question.

He dissipates for a moment, leaving all of us to stare up at the ceiling. Minutes pass before he suddenly reappears, reforming just above Jackson. "I went by many names in my day—careful, now," he says, flying up as Jackson spits a ball of flame above his head, "we don't want this tower to collapse."

"It won't collapse," Jackson snarls.

"Are you certain about this?" the Gastly asks; when Jackson doesn't answer (apart from a frustrated growl) he nods, as though he expected that sort of answer, and turns to Minka with an almost-smirk. "To answer your question, I've grown fond of the name Wilkes. If it so pleases you, that is the name you may address me by."

Minka nods, still leering. With a vine she points to herself, and each one of us in turn, introducing us. "My name is Minka. This is Jackson, Casey , and True."

"Lovely names," Wilkes says, and with a wink to True, adds, "Truly."

True's recovered enough to groan at the pun. It's only with the support from Minka's vine that she's able to recollect herself, and stands up to face Wilkes. He hovers down to her chest level, looking up with pinprick-purple eyes. "And... yours," she says.

"Now that the introductions have been made," Minka says, "why do you wish to come with us."

Wilkes lowers himself even further down, hovering in front of Minka's face. "Simple. I'm a ghost-type Pokémon, and have an advantage over many of the Pokémon you seem to have in this region."

Jackson growls. "Why's that?"

"It seems that only a precious few Pokémon in the Kanto region have access to moves that other regions have. Moves that would be primarily effective against a Pokémon like myself. Many of your normal- and fighting-type Pokémon are useless against me, because they do not have access to moves that do me harm."

I hiss under my breath. "Like the dark-type attacks."

"Precisely."

"They're becoming more common, though," True interrupts. I start to protest, but she brings a hand up to scratch me behind the ears, her warning sign. "With so many people moving between regions, and with the populations breeding with each other, I don't think that'll be an issue for very much longer."

He seems impressed—or as impressed as a giant ball of gas can be. "You are correct in this," Wilkes says, "but that doesn't lessen my capabilities in battle. There is a reason your Agatha specializes in ghost-type Pokémon, after all. We're crafty. Sneaky. A perfect companion for teams that specialize, or wish to specialize, in effects that cripple an opponent's potential use."

It was what made them so dangerous, and why Agatha was probably one of the greatest—if not _the_ greatest—threat in the Kanto Elite Four; you only had to stop paying attention for a second to be put to sleep, or poisoned, or have the life sucked out of you. They were things that should not be among the living.

"I have no interest whatsoever in challenging the Elite Four with you."

It's Minka's turn to look surprised. "Then why would you ask—?"

"Because I have grown tired of this place," Wilkes says, and looks up to the ceiling. "It is boring even for ghosts to spend all of their time in the company of each other. I'm bound to this tower—to this city—unless I am on a traveling team. There are a few places I would still like to go, before."

He doesn't finish his sentence. He's asking for us to complete his sentence for him. With a groan, I finally give him the response he's looking for: "Before _what_."

He turns to me with his hellish purple eyes and smirks. "Why, before dying, of course."

There's no fucking way I heard him right.

But Jackson must have heard it the same way I did, because he's roaring and snarling and charging toward the Gastly, claws outstretched. He takes a swipe at the ball of gas, but Wilkes disappears underneath his touch. Jackson falls hard on the ground, and his tail slams into one of the stone statues—a Meowth is suddenly without a delicately-crafted whisker—but is up immediately, twisting his head to try and find Wilkes again.

He appears high above his reach, a confident look on his face. "You must be a fool to try what I have already said is impossible. And remember," he adds, just as Jackson opens his mouth, "We do not want this place crashing down above us."

"You're a ghost!" Jackson screeches. "You're supposed to live forever! You—"

Wilkes comes down so suddenly that I'm afraid he'll collide with Jackson's head—but he stops short, hovering right in front of his face. As the smoky gas expands, a foul stench is released, and I'm reminded again why Gastly and its evolutions are part poison. Only Minka seems unaffected by the smell, but she still flinches away.

"My boy," Wilkes growls, "that is precisely why I wish to die."

The fight seems to drain out of Jackson—he slumps to the ground, his taillight shrinking in size. "Wh... I don't understand."

He contracts, sinking down closer to the floor. "No one as young as you ever could," he says gently. "I've grown tired of floating aimlessly through this tower and this town.

I'm old, but I still can't understand. I don't think I could. "Then just get someone to kill you," I say. "Plenty of trainers come through here who'd love to do you a favor.

"I considered this," he says. "But no. It feels right, this way."

"If you come with us," Minka asks hesitantly, "how will we know?"

Wilkes turns to Minka and smiles, nodding his head. "If I am not taken by a mad accident—"

"Is it an accident if you want to fucking die?" I growl.

"There are no mad accidents in life," Wilkes retorts. "Accidents are for people who believe that there is no set path. Everything happens for a reason."

I can't speak, and turn away.

"One day, you will understand this," he says. "But until that happy day, I offer you my services in the best way I can." 

True stares at him for a long time, and does not sway under me. "Don't do what I think you're gonna do," I say, as Jackson comes to tug at True's jacket.

But she ignores us, picking out a glossy Pokéball from her bag. Wilkes's eyes are drawn immediately to it, and he hovers closer, his smile stretching past his face again. True seems to notice, and pulls the ball back just slightly—her arms are shaking, but they're less violent tremors, and her voice is steady and sure when she says, "I can't take you if you won't help us. We'll do it… but you have to keep your end of the bargain."

And I'll give him this: his voice is just as steady and sure as True's, and the sharp edges to his smile seem to fade into a more serious complexion. "I am a 'mon of my word," Wilkes says, and bows as though he's praying. "And I am always happy to learn of all the ways I can be useful to you, my master."

Her eyes close, and she shudders once—and before Jackson or me or even True can react, the ball is sailing through the air. Wilkes is sucked in a beam of red light, and the ball lands on the floor, rolling only once before it clicks.

True walks over to pick up the ball, bending down so suddenly that I'm forced to jump off and onto the ground. Jackson looks up at True as she attaches Wilke's Pokéball to her belt. "I don't like him," he growls.

And she knows, oh Arceus she has to know, but she pats the top of his head anyway—and he doesn't flinch from the touch, either, just stands there and looks up at her as she says, "I know, but we can't... just because he looks scary—"

"But you heard what he said!" he exclaims, his eyes narrowed in on the sphere. "What if he puts us in danger, too!"

Her fingers stroke the bony eye ridges, and his eyes flutter shut. True cups her free hand against Jackson's jaw—I tense, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her eyes are all on the Charmeleon now. "He won't. He won't, I promise—"

"Don't promise," he says stiffly. "Not if you don't…"

It's an awful conversation to be having in a graveyard. I have to turn away from it as True leans even farther, grabbing Jackson into a hug; instead, I turn to Minka, who is busy studying her vines. "You think he's going to be alright?"

She looks up at me. "I don't know."

I cross my arms and look down at the ground. "That doesn't help the situation."

"It isn't our situation to help," she says. I feel the tip of her vine underneath my chin, and am forced to look up at her. "We have to trust in True to make this decision for herself. That's what being on a trainer's team is all about."

She might be forcing my head up, but she can't make me look at her. I close my eyes. "Maybe it'll be better once we get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

I hear her chuckle, and feel her vine withdraw from my face—only then do I open my eyes, to see her sit down in front of a tombstone. "LILAH THE GROWLITHE" has been carved in the dark stone; I can feel the question bubbling up inside my throat, but dam it up. It's none of my business if she knows Lilah or not—it's probably some random Pokémon. "I understand why he would want to leave. Even for a ghost-type, I'm sure this place would be very lonely."

We're silent for a long time, until True finally calls for us, Jackson at her side. Both of their eyes are rimmed with red, even though they're dry. "I guess we're going to head to Celadon now," she says hesitantly. "They're supposed to send me a message when the Tower reopens, so…"

I nod. Beside me, Minka lifts herself up from her place in front of the headstone, smiling. "Then I suppose we should get going, then."

True offers to put Minka in her Pokéball—she must have made an agreement with Jackson. But the Ivysaur declines with a soft, "I need to walk, I think," and we head up the stairs.

Jodi's right there when we come up to the main floor. "I was just about to come down there—is everything alright?"

"We caught a Gastly," True says, her hands shaking.

That seems to satisfy Jodi, who nods. "They can be pretty tricky to handle. But they're great guardians, you know, can get you through anything. Literally," she adds, with a smile.

She hands us tiny lollipops and walks us to the door, where late-afternoon sun is pouring into the city.

Jackson eyes me and shudders. "I think Clara and Britt were right after all."

Even though it kills me to admit it, it seems they had.


	32. Chapter Thirty

The fact that it took both Jackson and True to shoulder the door open should have been our first clue.

Clara's sitting on a bed of blankets, forcefully pried off of the beds and tucked into a red-and-white nest; any sheets that remain on the bed are dirtied and torn, stinking of soil and wind. Her eyes open when True's backpack falls with a THUMP, glazed over from sleep; she greets us with a tired coo.

"I thought we weren't allowed to sleep on the big bed," Jackson says, tilting his head to the side.

Clara looks between us with a furrowed brow. The downy feathers along her neck rustle as she stretches her neck up; even in the few weeks since her evolution, she's started to grow bigger. She starts to open her wings, but bumps into a cabinet; with a growl, she pulls them back into her body and sighs.

I look up to see True's hand already threading through her hair. Her eyes flash between me and Clara. "It—wait. Clara, where's Britt?"

The Fearow just rolls her eyes, and points her beak to the bathroom—that's when we hear a loud sloshing of water, and a contented yawn.

True's the first one to get to the closed door. Her hand pushes hard down on the silver handle, but it doesn't move. "Britt, are you in there?"

Jackson backs up, his shoulder pointed to the door—but before he can take a step, Minka wraps her vines around his shoulders. "We don't want to break down any doors."

Water splashes from inside the room; seconds later, Britt opens the door, dripping wet onto the floor and the sink counter. She looks us up and down for a few tense moments before threading her claws through her ears. "How were the dead?"

" _You're_ about to be dead in five seconds," I start, but True holds up one hand; the other one is pinching the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are clenched tightly.

"Why...?"

The curl to Britt's lips is too reminiscent of our newest teammate, and I scowl; she hardly seems to notice, though, as she shakes her head and sends water flying everywhere. "I like going on foot for long stretches of time like anybody, but when there's a bath and some privacy around, I'm going to take advantage of it."

I'm able to peer in, and just about have a heart attack. Towels have been thrown all across the floor, dark and heavy from dirt and spilled water. Some of True's underwear and a dark lacy bra have been stuffed between the toilet and the tub, just as wet. True shuffles in and balks when she sees her clothes, and shuffles across the room to retrieve the articles of clothing. They drip and soak the bottom of her shirt, which seems to be the last thing on her mind as she turns to Britt. "You could've waited for us."

"Or thrown yourself in a river," I mutter underneath my breath.

"Now, enough," Minka tuts from behind us; she's managed to push the door open wide enough to let her and Jackson see the damage. "We need to get this cleaned up before we check out."

"Do we have to?" Britt asks. "'Cause I was gonna—"

"We're checking out," True says. Her face is angled toward the harsh lights above us, mouth pulled into a grimace. "After we clean up and dry off…well, everything."

"So what're we going to do," I ask, "drag everything over to one of the drying machines?"

"I don't want to carry wet things," Jackson says, eyeing the pile of sopping towels and clothes with distaste.

"Well..." True turns to look at Jackson, but stops for a moment. "If you didn't have to carry them, would you still want to help?"

Jackson quirks his head to the side, but nods. "What can I do?"

True already has a bundle of wet things in her arms. "Go out into the main room and just stay still. We'll use your tail to dry everything off."

Britt somehow manages to voice what I'm thinking: "That's the fucking craziest thing I've ever heard of."

"You get to help," I growl. "Pick something up and bring it outside."

Strangely enough, though, it works; we ring everything out in the bathtub, and then hold each towel and pair of underwear close to Jackson's tail flame. True rubs the pads of her bra in between her hands, hoping to speed up the process; I do the same with a pair of pale underwear. It's slow going work, but we're all sitting down as we alternate between rubbing and heating. Jackson stands, at first, but as the minutes pass he adjusts himself so that he's laying on his belly.

"You're _sure_ ," Britt starts, but shuts up when True rounds at her with narrowed eyes. The blue turtle just shrugs, though, and continues rubbing a pair of lacy blue underpants between her paws.

I look over to see Clara tugging at her blanket nest, her long beak pulling at the corners of the down comforter. Her blue eyes catch mine, and she immediately turns away.

The pair of underwear in my paws is pretty much dry, anyway; I fold it up and lay it gently on the ground, away from Jackson, and move toward Clara. "Need some help?"

Her warble is muffled by the large chunk of blanket that she's seized in her beak, but she nods. Her reach is much longer than mine, so I mostly help by straightening out the blanket, allowing Clara to drape it over the bed. Minka comes over a few minutes later; her vines speed the process along, and before we know it all the blankets are back on the bed. Minka even starts tucking the corners in, humming a song underneath her breath.

It's one I recognize, a soft song I haven't heard in years; there's no guitar, but my fingers are itching to pull and pluck at strings. For a moment I'm not in this trashed Pokémon Center room, but underneath a full moon—Al's got his paws on his knees and singing the same words, while I fumble for chords that shriek and moan. But I get them eventually, and even though there are some pauses, my brother and I are able to sing and play together.

He opens his mouth to sing the next line, and—

"That was my favorite bra!"

I'm pulled away from the memory to see True holding her bra, half-burned and wet again. Water's dribbling from Britt's mouth as Jackson turns around, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to!" the Charmeleon whines.

Britt's practically on her back, she's laughing so hard. I guess it _is_  kind of ridiculous to see True flailing a half-burned bra around. Minka can't help but chuckle a little bit. Clara's just shaking her head, and Jackson is trying to gather the burned off bits, as if that'll be enough to fix it.

Finally True starts to laugh as well, and flings the bra behind her into the trash can. She meets my eyes with an exasperated smile, and right then I can't help but laugh, too.

* * *

 

We have to pay a fairly hefty fee for replacement blankets, but at least Joy doesn't yell at us again. We're checked out, healed up, and on the road in about half an hour—by now the sun is just above us. Rock Tunnel seems to shimmer behind us underneath the heat. Jackson leads us confidently, his tail burning more brightly under the summer sun.

But not even sunshine seems to lift the mood of the passerby around us. Lavender Town has the same depressing feeling as its tower—the buildings are all similar shades of white and gray, with dark purple roofs and trim. Some of the shops have tried to add bursts of color into their displays, with bright red curtains or sunny yellow lettering, but it just isn't enough; whatever attempt to be cheery is brought down by the somber, reserved faces on the passerby, who clutch onto their purses and look around as though something's about to strike them from behind.

No wonder it's a place for ghosts; nothing and no one here feels like they're really among the living.

True ducks into a clothing shop to get a few new pairs of underwear and a cheap bra, and then to the Poke Mart near the entrance to Route Twelve. Clara waits outside as we meander into the shop—we're the only ones in there besides the clerk, a blond boy with a bowl cut. He looks up from a stack of books and looks up at us with a smile. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Just restocking," True says. The boy nods, and turns to his studies without another word.

We end up grabbing a few Super Potions and some cans of food. True holds them in her arms and makes her way to the counter; only when the items clang on the wood surface does the boy look up, surprised.

"You're a traveling team, right?" he asks, as he reaches for one of the Super Potions to scan. "Where are you all headed next?"

"Celadon," True says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

He looks up with surprise, and only now seems to notice the four of us standing beside her. "Guess that means you're a trainer," he says.

"No, we're a traveling circus," Britt scowls. "Idiot."

My paw finds my forehead with a loud thunk, and Minka groans. But the cashier just laughs, marking his place in his book— _Wings of Freedom: A Memoir_ —before closing it shut. "Some Wartortle you've got."

Britt grins with pleasure, while Minka shakes her head.

"But if you're headed to Celadon, you'll have to take the tunnels. Saffron's gates are closed."

Jackson's head tilts to the side. "All of them?"

True's already handed her trainer card to the clerk. He gives it a half-second glance over before ringing up the purchase. "Cerulean's was just under construction a few weeks ago, but now it seems they've closed all of the gates. No one seems to know why, but it's been a mess. All of our stock has been coming in by Pidgeot since then."

"So what about that road over there?" I ask, pointing to the gate right outside the Mart's doors.

"Route Twelve?" He shakes his head and brings out a plastic bag. "There's a huge fishing competition going on over there; won't let anyone in or out of the route unless they have a fishing rod. I'd sell you one," he chuckles, "but we sold out just yesterday."

Some of the mirth has died from True's eyes, and I sigh. "We've gone through the tunnels before," I say softly.

She turns toward me with a sigh, and nods. "Guess we don't have a choice."

"It shouldn't take that long," says the clerk, as he stuffs Super Potion after Super Potion into the bag. "You could probably get to the tunnels before nightfall. Camp out a night, go through, be in Celadon by mid-afternoon tomorrow. It should be an easy enough trip with a team like yours."

The smile is fleeting, but it's there as True looks back up to the bowl-cut boy and sticks her ID back into her wallet. "Thank you for the tip."

"No problem," he says, and pushes the bag of goods over to her. "Thanks for the company. It's been pretty slow today, since you can only get here through Rock Tunnel or by flying."

"Sure." True places the items, still in the bag, into her backpack. "Have a nice day."

"Same to you," True smiles. She's still adjusting her bag onto her shoulder when we step out of the Pokémart. Clara greets us with a happy warble; True scratches the Fearow underneath her beak, and Clara leans into the touch. "You probably aren't ready for flying yet, huh?" True asks. Clara shakes her head with a sigh, and True nods. "It's alright. Guess we're walking."

"Maybe just until we get to the tunnels?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Clara can get some rest in her ball—or not," I amend, when Clara caws at me. "She can just take it easy. Besides, it'll be easier if we just fly over Saffron, and then land between there and Celadon."

True quirks her head and looks down at all of us. "Does that sound okay with everyone?"

We all nod, and Britt shrugs, adding a curt "Sounds fine with me."

So we walk. The cobblestone roads of Lavender town quickly turn to dirt path, even before the tower has faded in the horizon. Amazingly enough, the journey itself is relatively silent; our breathing and the sound of Clara's wingbeats overhead are the only thing to break the relative silence. Bushes rattle as the heads of Pokémon pop out to investigate, but flee quickly when they see Britt leering at them. I only have to breathe in the fresh air for about an hour for the stench of burned bra to get out of my nose, which is a plus, I guess.

When my legs start to cramp up, I jump onto True's shoulder, clinging onto the bulged top half of her backpack.

"I don't remember if the Celadon match is televised or not," she says, her voice too low for anyone but me to hear.

I answer just as quietly: "You worried about them finding you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. That time away from Vermilion... I think I was more freaked out about... well," she sighs, "about everything else. The reporters just made it worse."

"Will you be okay?"

She looks away from me to see Clara flying up ahead, then smiles. "I think so. If I can handle Britt trashing our room, I think we can do anything."

My laughter is too loud to cover up, which attracts Britt's attention. "What, is there some kind of secret meeting going on over there?"

True grins at me, and then turns to face the others, walking backwards on the level ground. "You need a secret password to find out."

"Fuck you," Britt says, and rolls her eyes.

"Sorry," I chime in, "that's incorrect."

Minka's own laughter bubbles up out of her, and even Britt can't keep a sly grin off her face. "Alright, alright, whatever. Starter privileges and all that, I get it."

The comment doesn't even unease me like it used to. True catches my eye, and I can't deny the proud gleam in her eye that only brightens when I don't flinch away from the truth.

It's only late afternoon, but there's an unmistakable chill in the air that makes me shudder. The sky overhead is already a duskier blue than it had been, streaking with bits of orange and pink. I don't remember what time we had left the room, much less what time we had left Lavender Town. True's already pulled out a white jacket from her backpack, which she slips into with a sigh. "You think we'll be able to get to those tunnels before nightfall?"

"It'd probably be best to get as far as we could," Minka says. "But I wouldn't mind camping out again."

True looks up and down the dirt pathway, and sighs. "It's not like this isn't a bad spot to camp out, and we have had a pretty long day. Would you guys be alright with setting up camp?"

"Just make a decision already," Britt says, and moves to lounge underneath a shady fir tree. "We probably shouldn't park right on the side of the road, in case trainers come."

In the end, we divert just a little off the beaten path—a small clearing shaded by tall fir trees. We set up a camp in hardly any time at all—food is distributed around a blazing campfire before the first stars begin to emerge, pale pinpricks of light that I have to squint to see. My belly's contentedly full as I lean against True's leg.

Britt's not too far away, popping in morsel after morsel of food into her mouth. She eyes us with confusion, at first, before tilting her head. "There's an extra ball on your belt."

Jackson freezes in mid-bite of his Pokémon food, and looks up to us with a cold fury in his eyes.

Britt, completely oblivious, pops a morsel of her own food into her mouth and asks, "You gonna let the new team mate out?"

True opens her mouth to reply, but Jackson interrupts us with a sharp "No!" We all look at him, True and Minka with concern, Britt and I with irritation—he's glaring at all of us, his tail lashing behind him. "I don't want him out. I don't know why you even caught him."

Any sense of contentment has vanished by now. Clara eyes Jackson with confusion, as Minka shakes her head sadly and sighs. True puts her hand on her knees, far away from the balls on her hip. "He's a member of our team, Jackson," she says softly. Her hand hovers over Wilkes' Pokéball, fingers brushing against the red half that gleams in the darkness. "Just because you don't like him—"

"We don't need him!" he screeches, throwing his arms out behind him. "We're strong already! You heard that guy in the place, he said so!"

I push myself away from True with a groan; my legs still feel like lead underneath me, and I hadn't even done half the walking some of the others had. "Look, I don't like him either, but th—"

"No!" Jackson snarls, and lunges in my direction. He sails a good foot before landing on the ground, his tail thrashing behind him. "Don't talk all the time and then do nothing! You think your way is right, then prove it! Battle me!"

My feet feel like they've been nailed to the ground; I feel electricity nipping my cheeks, and see it flash out of the corners of my eyes. But I don't move. I can only look at Jackson, who's bent low to the ground, his arms extended, his black lips curled over shiny white fangs.

It reminds me of that Arcanine, and suddenly I'm the powerless little kid I had been ten years ago.

True starts to move toward Jackson, her hand creeping toward his shoulder—

But Britt shoves the hand aside, swatting it away with a clawed paw. All of our eyes are drawn toward the action—even Jackson has lost some of the fury in his eyes, replaced by a confusion that only reminds me of the Charmander he had been.

"You start a fight with him, the way you want to?" Britt growls. "He's going to end up dead."

Jackson growls at me, lifting his head up. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to—my mind goes blank and I can think of nothing but the sound of my thudding heart.

Was this how my brother had felt, right before…?

Britt moves in front of me, casting a shadow with her broad body. Only then am I able to look around me; True's on both feet, trembling like a leaf in the wind, as Minka stumbles upright to join her. My eyes are for them, but my ears drink in the exchange between Britt and Jackson. "I watched you tear into Surge's ace like it was nothing."

"Then you fight me," he says, and blows an arc of flame into the air.

Clara warbles low, but tucks her neck in and watches, and makes no move to break the two apart.

True closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I can't... we shouldn't be—"

"We should," Britt growls. "He's got anger that he hasn't been allowed to get out."

It's an accusation if I've ever heard one. True's face flushes crimson, but her words are steady. "The time at the gym—"

"Was practice. It meant nothing other than to kill some time getting ready for the match."

I push myself up off the ground, swaying underneath Jackson's feral gaze. No wonder Mr. Pokémon had had his suspicions about Jackson's origin—the Charmander line are known for their ferocity, but I've never seen one with that look of manic desire for pain before. Not in all of the domesticated Charmander that's been given out by Professor Oak.

Somehow I'm able to find my voice again. "He doesn't know—"

"Because he hasn't been taught! You baby him like he's a pet, but he isn't, he's a fighter. And fighters can't just… sit around fucking campfires and pretend to be obedient little _lab rats_."

The comment's supposed to sting, but I just shake my head. "Violence gets you nowhere—"

She spits out "Mew" like it's a curse word, and swings her body toward me with burning eyes. I usually made it a point to stay as far away from Britt as I could—partially... fuck it, I _am_ intimidated by her. I'm still on the ground as I look up at her; she's taller than me by inches, and bulkier, built for battle. Her ears and tail have fluffed out, which looks ridiculous alongside her tense arms and the fierce expression fierce expression on her face—I'm forced to look at her eyes when she grabs me by the shoulder and yanks me up, just off the ground. "We're _Pokémon!_ " she yells, as her claws dig into my skin. "Violence is how we get stronger! That's how we live our lives!"

It only takes a short jolt of electricity to get her away—she recoils with a hiss, drawing her paw close to her chest. I'm able to stand up, if shakily, and glare at her in turn. "Not everyone."

As easily as she picked me up, she tosses me down; I land on the ground with a groan, and push myself up to see her leaning down at me, furious gold eyes boring into mine. "I get that you're one of those fuzzy types who wants to talk things out all the time," Britt scowls, "but things are different. _Pokémon_ are different. We're not humans, we don't just... cuddle up to each other and go on and on about feelings." Her uninjured paw reaches up to fluff the base of her ears, and she sighs. "Have all the tender moments you want in little rooms that can't be damaged. But don't forget that we're not meant to be in cages."

I look over to True to see her arms wrapped around her chest, thumbs rubbing against the exposed skin of her forearms. "I... I still don't know about this."

"It'll be healthier for him to just get it out," Britt says—and the words are gentler than I would have expected, considering she had been screaming at me only minutes ago.

"I want to battle with her," Jackson interrupts, stamping his tail on the ground. "I wanna get a say. And I want to do it."

True looks over toward me, and I can feel my heart fall down below my feet. I have to sigh to get a hold of myself before I can look back to her, nod, and then to the Charmeleon and Wartortle. Finally True unwraps herself, and sits on one of the larger rocks on the side of the dirt road. "At the first sign of blood, it's over," she says.

Jackson snorts and bucks his head. Britt grins deviously and shoots a thumbs-up. "He won't even get that far."

The two of them move closer toward the center of our campsite, away from the fire that throws their shadows into chaos. Jackson makes the first move, racing toward Britt with claws extended. Britt waits until the absolute last second before diving away, sticking the landing on her front paws. He lashes out again, but his claws meet with her tail, and are lost in the silky white strands. With a chuckle, she fires a weak Water Gun—not at Jackson but at the ground, which separates them again by inches.

The infuriating thing about the whole situation is that Britt was absolutely right—if I hadn't been killed outright, I'd be a burned, broken, bleeding mess of a Pokémon. I don't know how to fight. It becomes clear, immediately, that Britt does—she moves with pivots and turns that shouldn't be happening, deflecting Jackson's clawed strikes with a burst of water, a well-timed turn of her shell.

Blow after blow meets the brown exterior, and Britt hardly winces. She almost sounds annoyed when she sneers, "Do you always keep hitting things when you know it won't work?!"

"You'll break!" he grunts, as he throws his claws out again. This time he misses her shell—but he finds purchase in her exposed arm. Both paws come to grasp the flailing limb as Jackson hurls Britt to the side. She lands on her back, kicking up a flurry of dust before eventually sliding to a stop.

The Wartortle seems completely unconcerned, and instead rocks on her back as though she meant to fall there; she almost looks comfortable with her paws clasped together on top of her chest. "So. You learn anything?" she asks.

Jackson's upright, but only just so. His body is low to the ground, and the flame at the end of his tail burns dimly. But he roars and pushes himself to his full height, blowing another flurry of Embers into the night sky.

It doesn't impress Britt, who scowls and shakes her head. "Showy displays'll get you nothing but a one-way to Fucked Over-ville. You'll be too tired to do anything, and too angry to think."

As if to prove her point, his tailflame ignites again, a bright yellow verging on white. "So... what?" he pants. "If I—"

"You can hardly get a sentence out," Britt scowls. She rocks onto her side, and pushes herself up effortlessly, a well-practiced movement. "Here I am making snooty remarks and you can't even get your ass over here to shut me up. That's because you wasted so much of your energy."

With a roar, he blows out a flurry of Embers that strike at the top of her shell, and her arms, and the feathered tops of her ears. Clara perks up with narrowed eyes, and I hear True gasp as Britt roars, before shooting a well-aimed Water Gun straight into Jackson's face.

He falls to the ground with a startled yelp, and doesn't move.

Minka and True start to move toward Jackson, but Britt fires another Water Gun, stopping them in their tracks. "You're interrupting my lesson."

"That's more than enough," Minka snaps. "I think you've made your point, so there's no use badgering him anymore."

It's bought time for True to spray a Super Potion onto Jackson. He stands up immediately, his chest still heaving.

Britt tilts her head, and lets her arms drop. "I'll stop if he tells me what he's learned."

I can't help but look at the panting Charmeleon. He glares at me for one long, tense moment, before sighing and turning away. "That I can't beat you with just my claws."

"And?"

Jackson furrows his brow. "That I can just throw you to the ground without hurting my claws on your shell?" Her deadpan expression is enough to deter him, and he tilts his head. "That... I don't need to do what doesn't work. And find out what works, and stick to that."

The Wartortle smirks and nods. "Save your strength. We'll wake up early tomorrow and keep going. You obviously need to get your ass whooped to get anything learned."

True's red hair is a curtain in front of her face until she pushes it back with a shaking hand, and looks at Britt. "Where did you learn all of this?"

"Doesn't matter," Britt says. "Point is I'm going to whip him into shape. And anyone else who wants it."

Clara growls and shakes her head before pressing her beak against Jackson's shoulder. He looks up with softer eyes and grins. "We'll be fine. Don't worry."

Her bright blue eyes meet mine, and I swear we both think the same thing.


	33. EXTRA TWO: Snow Bird

The last thing Al sees before he falls is Casey's outstretched paw, a hair's breath away from his own. And then it's brown to gray to white as he tumbles down the cliffside, scraping his arms and his face and bruising the flat side of his tail. A blustery wind carries him down onto a thick layer of fresh powder, where he lands with a yelp. The powder is soft underneath him, and in his mouth--it has a bit of a crunch to it, and a coppery taste that he's pretty sure didn't come from the snow itself. He groans, and tries to push himself up, but the powder acts as a vacuum. One Thunderbolt is enough to send enough of the snow away, so that he can move and breathe; even then it's a struggle, and by the time he manages to escape from the pull of his icy prison, he's winded.

Once upon a time this might have been a meadow or a plain, but right now it's a vast expanse of white and blue, shapeless and undefined. There's nothing but the blustery winds that moan with tuneless songs, and the ice that throws itself into arching patterns that he could trace with his fingers, if he had the want. He hears snippets of words that bleed together into phrases: "she li...don't go...have not...no, no, no..."

And then--

"Al!"

It might have been a trick or his own desperate wish, but he knows that that's his name, and if someone's calling his name, that means they're searching for him. His fan-shaped ears whip in the wind, and ice stings his eyes, but he yowls as hard as he can: "I'm down here!"

Nobody answers again, even when he shouts "Help!" over and over again. There's only the loud sighs of the wind and the tinkling of the snow to accompany him.

He doesn't know if it's been minutes or hours; time loses meaning when the sun dances on the snow in the same way. But finally his voice feels too sore to continue, and he stops, and tries to wrap his pudgy arms around himself to conserve warmth. With a groan, Al looks up at the cloudless sky, and then to the rocky cliff above him, and sighs. He's as confident in his abilities as any of the other hotheads he's met, but even he knows it's a tall order for him to be able to scale that thing and make it to the end.

He tries anyway. Even with the snow biting at his cheeks and his toes and the tip of his tail, he makes it a good twenty feet before he slips on a particularly icy patch, and lands hard in the snow again with a yelp.

"Like hell'm I gonna die in a blizzard," he grits, and tries again.

The next five attempts end in similar ways to the first, and by the end every part of him is covered in snow. He wouldn't have particularly minded the frosted look--it's edgy, what can he say?--if it didn't mean everything would freeze. He doesn't even make it half a foot in the final attempt--his arms are shaking too much, and he can hardly feel where he's placing his feet.

He lands on the ground this time with his head already between his paws, and an angry snarl budded up in his throat. He won't be making it up there anytime soon.

Finally he finds the tiniest of alcoves, and even though it isn't much of a shelter, it's something. He rubs his paws against his fur, which is already starting to crust up with ice, and breathes on them--the warmth tickles, but that's about all it does. He curls into himself and fights to keep his eyes open, because if there's one thing he does know about being left alone in icy conditions, it's not to go to sleep.

But his eyes flutter shut without his meaning to, even as he fights to keep them open. He shocks himself awake more times than he can count, until there just isn't enough juice in him anymore. He tries to bite himself, but he loses the force. He wiggles his toes to get feeling back in them.

He wonders what it would be like to die by the fire, instantaneous, instead of this slow creeping chill.

Al doesn't see the shape as it appears down the valley until it's right in front of him, and even then he has to squint to make it out against the white snow. It's unlike anything he's ever seen: an ethereal flash of blue, a tuft of white, massive wings. But it's the eyes, red like blood on fresh snow, that stick out, and that look at him with a weariness and unease that startles him out of his own hazy indifference.

"Wh-Who're you?" he asks somehow, unable to look away.

The steely-grey beak clicks once, twice, before the head bends down to look at him. The eyes glance over him once, twice, before closing. No words are offered.

He tries again. "C-C'n y'take me out of here?"

There is a tense silence, and he's too focused on that to notice that the wind has abated, somewhat, that the snow isn't falling quite as heavily now. The giant icy bird regards him for a few moments longer before shying away, before opening those great blue wings--

His heart drops in his chest, and he stumbles forward. The bird hops a few more paces back, and there is fear now in those blood-red eyes as the wings catch a newly-found gust of wind, and hovers. And he can't help himself from crying, "Please, I gotta trainer, an' a brother--"

And the mythical Pokemon stops. Lands. Eyes him with a weariness that reminds him so much of Casey that he almost laughs.

He knows his chance when he has it, and trudges through snow to get closer to the bird. "He's so tiny, an' he watched me fall, and I can't... I can't leave 'im. An' I don't wanna go."

The blood-eyed bird shakes its crested head, and looks away. Between the few wisps of snow he can see the glisten of pale blue feathers, the long banner-like tail that lies on the ground, the clenched steely-blue feet that seem to rest on the snow, not sink into it like his are. He would have said something if he wasn't focused on trying not to die. "Just... even just by takin' me up, or..." Or something. Anything, he wants to say.

But his body shudders of its own accord, and he falls into the snow again.

He manages a final, desperate "Please," before closing his eyes.

There's a little bit of pressure against his sides, bu he's too far gone to really notice. He closes his eyes, and everything is white and moving before it's still and black.

 

Al opens his eyes to steady, motionless white, and wonders if this is what heaven is like: steady and featureless and warm.

That's all he has time to think before a tiny yellow body slams into him. and it's the fact that he can feel it that startles him, more than anything. Al turns his head to see the bundle of yellow grab onto his white belly fur with tiny closed fists, and then look up at him from a tiny yellow head with very large brown eyes--and his heart stops before his smile burns.

"Y'can't do that again!" his little brother cries, and buries his head onto Al's chest.

The Raichu pushes himself up off the solid ground--no snow in sight, no bit of cold--and rubs a brown paw in between Casey's diamond-shaped ears. "Wasn't much fun, anyway. But how--?"

The door opens and Chris is there, a watery smile on his face. The boy's still bundled up in his winter gear, the bright green a stark contrast to his dark skin and eyes. He sits beside them with a book in his hands--which is weird, because he's never seen Chris with anything close to a book before--and smiles. "Joy said you would be okay in a few days. And by then, the storm should have stopped."

"What happened?" Casey asks, and blinks up at him with a curious smile.

"Al laughs and shakes his head. "Don't really remember. Last thing I saw was--"

That's when he notices the picture in the book. Chris follows his line of sight and pushes it up for the three of them to see. There the bird is, in an illustration that's all soft angles and pastel colors. He can't read the text on the next page, and doesn't want to; his eyes are on the bird's drawn eyes, sharper and angrier than he remembers.

"We found you all by yourself in the snow. Chris wrapped you up, an' we ran all the way here," Casey says. He settles himself in Al's lap and smiles crookedly, the tiny tail twitching behind him. "But I looked up and I know I saw somethin' flyin' away. I bet it was that thing."

Al only nods, because it's all he can do.

"They say she stays at the top of the mountain," Casey continues, "but I know that's what I saw. An' the girl who helped, she said that it was probably some psychic Pokemon who saved you, they like to do that sometimes, but--"

"The eyes aren't right," he hears himself say.

"Maybe 'cause nobody's really seen her up close," Chris says. He closes the book shut with a definite movement, and smiles before pushing himself up onto the table. It groans under their collected weight, but neither of them move. "She looks really pretty, though. Powerful. I heard some people in the lobby saying she's the reason the storm's so bad."

"Dangerous," Casey adds.

Al can remember the chill in his bones, but above all he remembers the weariness in her eyes. That's what's missing in the painting, he realizes, but says nothing.

Instead, he looks up through the window, where the ice and snow still flurries out of control. He smiles, and leans into Casey's sudden hug, and tries to shake away the ice in his bones.

They don't get clearance to leave the Pokemon Center for a week, when the snow on the ground has abated somewhat and the ice isn't as slick. Casey hangs onto his paw with a vice-like grip that makes him wince. But he laughs and places his kid brother on his shoulders, where he can still just fit, and follows Chris, who laughs and frolics at least ten feet away from any edges.

From the mountain, the snow bird watches, and sighs, before retreating into her icy den again.


	34. Chapter Thirty-One

_And it's spewing blue-white fire all over the arena, splattering on the invisible walls thrown up to protect the trainers and spectators—it arcs in fat burning ribbons into the sky, because there's no ceiling straight up—_

_And there is nothing in those eyes but anger and rage and absolute hatred as he flies up, with fire escaping from the ends of his mouth, and jaws with huge white fangs snap and tear at air, and the lizard-like tail slashing, throwing up burning-hot sand, and it's burning, burning,_ burning—

Something's burning.

I wake up only seconds before Clara's cry pierces the air and True starts beside me. Nothing's like the battlefield—the scorching sand is moss and dirt, the terrified spectators are silent trees, and it should be enough to calm me. There had been a television screen between me and the inferno, but I've been around fire long enough to know the smell.

And it only takes a second for me to see that Jackson and Britt aren't here.

True's already just getting on her feet by the time I've raced out of our small clearing, toward the dirt-trodden road that divides Route Seven that's slowly being taken over by brick that's already hot enough to sear the bottoms of my feet. Clara speeds by me overhead, with a loud and furious screech that echoes in my ears.

I don't run as fast as the Fearow can fly, but it only takes me a few feet to realize that it isn't just Britt and Jackson—they're surrounded by a cluster of Pidgeotto, all flaring their wings and kicking up sand and screaming. Jackson is only allowed to fire a few Embers before he's struck by a wing, or pecked by a large hooked beak—Britt's doing better, but only just, spraying just enough water to keep some distance away from herself and her attackers.

The electricity releases from me, a short blast of hot energy that burns my cheeks—I only hit a few of the Pidgeotto, but it's enough to scatter half of them, at least for a moment. Clara locks talons with one of them, swinging them away with a screech and a blow from her massive wings.

But there are more bodies, more screeches, and I'm lost in the chaos of it all. Talons dig into my shoulders, and I cry out as I look up to see a monstrous Pidgeotto, black eyes glaring down. It's as much as I'm allowed to see before one huge foot forces my head down into the dirt and I'm tasting the dust and sand—and it's too much like that battlefield. My heart is hammering as I release another Thundershock—and when the weight doesn't lift, another, until the bird finally releases me and flies away.

And suddenly, there isn't any more crying.

He's hard to see in this morning light, but Wilkes is there, his eyes glowing a bright purple. He hovers away from anyone else, his mouth pressed in one firm line—he blinks, and the color drains, leaving only those two huge angular eyes that betray nothing.

I bet mine do. He meets my eyes for only a moment before he says, "It should keep them sleeping for a few minutes. Plenty of time to make an escape."

I don't know how he'd appeared out of nowhere, or why we all aren't running. But there's something else on my mind that has to be settled first. I lift myself off the ground with a hiss, and then walk on all fours toward Britt and Jackson. Both of them are bent low to the ground, panting and catching their breath, both littered with scratches. The ground around them is scorched to oblivion, and damp in some places; there are claw marks, from talons and Jackson's claws, and places where Britt's tail must have swept over to blow some dirt of her own.

But there are still grins on their faces, even though they look as though they've been through the ringer, and an impish gleam in their eyes that is all too familiar, and it's this, above all, that breaks me.

"Whose fucking idea was it—!?"

But it's Clara who makes the point better than I can. She hobbles over the sleeping bodies, a murderous look of her own on her angled face. Jackson looks up with a hesitant look in his eyes, his mouth twisting into more of a sheepish grin. "We got better."

"Not dying," Britt pants, "is always… first step."

One massive wing slaps both of them at once, and they fall to the ground—just missing a twitching Pidgeotto.

I might have laughed if there wasn't the smell of burning feathers and charred skin hanging over the air. Ghost of smiles stretch Jackson's and Britt's faces, even as the dust still settles on their bodies.

"Feel free to hit 'em again," I tell Clara, who huffs and fluffs her feathers out.

I feel True come up to all of us more than see her, or even hear her. She lifts up two Pokéballs in her hand, recalling Britt and Jackson in twin beams of red light. I look up to see Minka shaking her head with a sigh, before looking up at True. Nothing is said between the two of them as True plucks a third Pokéball from her belt, and recalls the Ivysaur.

And then Clara.

And then Wilkes.

I'm almost worried that she's going to find a Pokéball for me and suck me up, too, but she picks me up and carries me away from the scene, back to our clearing. I hadn't even realized she hadn't brought her backpack until I see it resting against the tree. Blankets are scattered and collecting dirt, and the fire pit we'd dug the night before is still erect. It's a mess that doesn't take all that long to clean up, even if it's True who's doing most of the heavy lifting. I help in little ways I can—counting our supplies, identifying what few leftovers we have that wouldn't last another night. I hand True a piece of jerky that we'd probably gotten that first day in Viridian; she takes a bite and winces, but finishes the strip, before chasing it down with a gulp of her water.

"Am I cut out for this?" she asks.

I look up from the pile of wrappers that I'm slowly stuffing into the pocket she uses for trash. Her hands are gripping her forearms tightly as she slides down onto the ground. She doesn't loosen her hold on herself as I come up to her, so I settle instead for her lap.

"I think some of your Pokémon are idiots who don't know what they're doing," I say. "That isn't your fault."

"But I should know how to… to not make them do that. Right?" She bows her head, and groans under the newly-created curtain of hair that hides her eyes from view. "Trainers are supposed to be in control. Or, more in control than I am."

"They could've burned the field down—"

" _Exactly_ —"

"But they didn't," I say. It's a hard stretch, but I'm able to tease away a few locks of hair, just enough to reveal one eye again. "And you sent Wilkes out to do that… thing. Hypnosis?"

She nods.

It's hard for me to admit it, but I do: "That probably saved our asses, doing that. And recalling everyone to get out of there."

"But they'll be mad—"

"We won't be getting pecked to death by angry Pidgeotto. And I still don't know how the fuck that happened."

One of her hand lifts up—and there are bruises, she's gripped herself so tightly—to pull some of the hair away. She's smiling. Whatever breath I'd been holding releases, and I smile back. "Think it'd be okay to leave them in there for a while?"

"Definitely Jackson and Britt," I say. I can feel the grin turn into something more impish, more Al-like. That sobers me. "Celadon isn't that far away, and it's a huge city. Wouldn't be smart to take them out and then put them in again."

We leave that clearing as spotless as it had been when we'd found it, trudging up the dirt road. It's only a few miles long, according to the mile markers. Every step seems to bring more bricks along the path, until there finally isn't even any dirt left. Every brick has been meticulously laid, and treated with something so that colors sparkle when the sun hits just right.

I don't remember the last time it's been just me and True walking alone by ourselves, without anyone else nearby. It's odd, not hearing the sounds of those extra sets of feet trailing beside or behind us, or Clara's feathers rustling in the breeze. But I can hear her breathing, and see her eyes flicking from the movement in the grass to the way the leaves move with the wind.

We don't even have to go through the archway to know that we've hit Celadon—people pass by us from the city, heading toward Saffron or to the Underground or into the sparse forests to catch Pokémon. There's a hustle-and-bustle that is better felt than heard or seen: the sounds of music playing from the square, the smells of fresh bread and produce that only makes my mouth water, the vibrant colors. The Rainbow City lives up to its name in its colorful demeanor and loud citizens, who sing and scream at each other, and to us, as we pass under the welcome sign.

I press my cheek against True's as we walk down the paved streets, careful not to hit anyone. There's only just enough room for the few cars and delivery trucks to pass—the rest is taken up by a mass of bodies, human and Pokémon alike. It's a far cry from the few days of solitude we'd had on the way here: there had been space to move around, space to breathe. I can feel my belly clench and my breaths become shallow.

But the gray-green exteriors of the skyscrapers and buildings means that the red roof of the city's Pokémon Center isn't too hard to find. We don't walk there so much as allow ourselves to be guided by the flow of the crowd, keeping to the edge to make escape easier. Instead of the sliding-glass doors I'm used to seeing on Pokémon Centers, we're pushed into a revolving door that spills us out into a huge lobby, which seems to shine with light. The staircase in the far-off corner spirals up, vine-like, onto a second floor. Several boxish TVs are all tuned to different stations—soap operas and sports and reruns from a championship match in a far-off country.

I'm more focused on the challenger, a brown-haired girl who commands a humongous metal beast, than True leading the two of us to the front desk. There's a line of people fooling around with Pokéballs and stroking injured Pokémon in front of a desk, handled by a pink-haired nurse with eyes that seem too big for his face. Might even be larger than his wrists.

I'm about to say so to True, who's glancing over at the revolving door—but she turns away with a squeak, and grips the straps of her backpack tightly.

My eyes narrow. "You okay?"

Her back is turned to the revolving door, but even I can tell that she's distracted by something behind her. "Did an… an older woman just come in?" she asks.

It takes me a few seconds to recover, but I do look over my shoulder. For whatever reason, people seem to love gathering beside doors—there are young adults with raggedy hair, and socialites twirling expensive skirts, and battle enthusiasts who are pointing toward the girl and her Aggron. But in amongst them, there is a twig-and-bones woman. One arm is bent alongside her chest, where an electric-blue purse is hanging from the crook of her elbow, as she looks around the lobby. Her coppery hair has been pulled back into a severe bun, which only highlights her high cheekbones and glancing eyes.

"Some angry-looking woman who looks like she'd be knocked over by a stiff breeze," I say. "In amongst the usual city people. Why?"

There's tension building in her shoulders, and it forms a knot in my belly. "Anyone else with her?" she whispers.

There's a couple who are kissing each other furiously, and an older gentleman who somehow is reading without tripping over himself, and a huge group of school-age kids who are flailing their books, opening them up and pointing to things I can only imagine. I see the old woman reach into her purse and pull out a Pokéball. One quick toss upwards releases a huge Dodrio, who lifts all three heads into the air with a loud caterwaul.

"Please tell me that wasn't a Doduo," True whimpers.

"No," I say cautiously, as the head with the angry eyes moves to tease a little girl's pigtails. "Dodrio."

It doesn't relax her; she groans instead, and fidgets with the straps of her backpack. "He evolved. _Crap_."

"He—wait," I start, looking back over to the shifting mass of people. "How do you—?"

"True, is that you?!" a shrill voice screeches, an almost perfect mimic of her Dodrio.

If she had stopped, or waited, or pretend she hadn't heard, we would have made it out okay—but True jumps on reflex, and turns her head just enough to identify herself. The old woman's lips twitch up, and both woman and Dodrio approach us, heels and talons clicking on the creamy tile.

"Gramma Tess," True mumbles, as one hand reaches up to thread through her hair. "Uh, hi. Hi."

There had only been a couple of times where I had gone home with True for a day or two. I'd met her mother, and though I'd never met Richard Fargone, I had at least heard his name and knew who he was. True had mentioned something about her mother's parents having died when she was very small.

But no one had said anything about this intimidating woman who was gripping True's free shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand, who had silvery roots poking out from her scalp and piercing eyes the exact same shade of her granddaughter.

"To think, after years of no face-to-face I'd find you here in my city," she tuts, shaking her head. "Don't even get a phone call for birthdays. Well," she amends, her reedy voice overpowering any words True might have had in her opening mouth, "maybe that's not entirely fair. But it's nowhere near enough, just a picture in the mail every once in a while. I thought your mother taught you better than that. Or even my Richie, Arceus knows _I_ taught him better."

For some reason, I think I know why this is the first I've heard of "Gramma Tess."

I'm ready and available for True's arms even before she lifts them up, and fall into them. She cradles me to her chest as her fingers tease the fur along my spine, and I lean against her. "I—I didn't know you were going to be here," True says softly. "Don't you usually travel…?"

"Not in this time of year, just winter for the usual trip to Unova." She waves her hand as if the thought was only some bug. "Of course, you would _know_ that if you bothered calling more, but. We all have our priorities, don't we," she says, with a dark twinkle in her eye.

"Um—"

"But enough about me. What are you even doing here?" the old woman asks. "I didn't know you were on a Trainer's journey. Of course—"

"I know, I should have called you," True rushes, "but it was sort of a late decision anyway, Mom's the only one who really knows, and—"

"We're just passing through," I interject. "We're here to get a gym badge, train a bit, and then we'll be leaving." I look up at True, who is still staring down at me with wide, hesitant eyes, and then continue, "If all goes as planned, we shouldn't take more than a few days."

Four pairs of intense eyes all look down. The Dodrio head with the confused eyes prods my belly with a light poke and whispers, "Talks funny, Master."

"M'from Solaceon," I mutter, as if it matters.

Gramma Tess nods, her lips pursed. "Didn't expect an import for one of your teammates. Is he a Starter, True?"

It's still not a word that I feel comfortable with. When a few seconds of tense silence passes, I open my mouth—but it's True who responds, tightening her grip around me. "Yeah."

"Well," she says. "Impressive. You'll have to tell me all about your journey, and all you've seen! Traveling the world's a lot like a trainer's journey, but it's been so long since I've been on one of my own."

There's a ghost of pride flashing in True's eyes, but it's still swallowed by the unease and fear. "Um, we'll just be in the city for a little bit, so I should probably… you know, check in. I guess if you wanted to meet later—"

"Check into here?" Tess tuts. "As if I'd allow that. I know that's what most trainers like to do, but you can do that in any other town."

My eyes narrow. "What're we supposed to do, then?"

Tess's smile reaches her eyes, this time, but it's even more off-putting than her pursed lips or indignant sneer. "Why, stay with me, of course."

True's grip becomes vice-like around me. "I... I wouldn't want to put you out—"

But she stops as Gramma Tess raises a hand, her dark red nails catching the electric lights overhead. "You're not putting me out, dear," True's grandmother says. The pet name sounds wrong, somehow, coming from her. "But you _can_ consider it a way of making up for all of that lost time. And," she starts, as she leans forward. She smells of an old perfume that brings me back to Hearthome City and I start to gag. "My showers are better. Not to sound callous, but you do need one. Where've you been staying the past few days?"

There isn't a way to make "out on Route Six and Seven" sound acceptable to a woman who may as well have screamed "this facility is subpar, and I'm rich," so we don't. True shrugs, instead, as I say, "Oh, around."

"Smell like _smoke,_ " she says, and sighs. "Anyway. I'll just catch a match on the television, I think it's a rerun from one of the Hoenn competitions. You heal your Pokémon and then come find me." She turns on those dark heels of hers and walks away—the Dodrio follows her every movement, down to the sway of the body and quirking head.

"Guess I know why I've never heard of her," I say.

"Yeah," she gulps, and moves back into the line.

"We don't have to go with her if you don't want to," I say. "Get us healed, lose track of her in the city, then—"

"The game corner here practically funds the city, and she's a huge investor. And if she wanted to find us, she'd send Ripper."

"Law enforcement cou—why's that thing called 'Ripper.'"

True shudders. "Gramma found him killing a Rattata as a Doduo. Ripping things. She thought he needed some manners, caught him and made him into her slave."

There isn't really anything I can say to that. I shudder right alongside True. I don't even want to know what he was tearing. "Well. Guess that answers that question."

"Yeah."

We don't say much of anything as we move up the line. The wait takes longer than the actual healing process; I'm knocked out and healed in the span of thirty minutes, and wake up right before being given back to True. She fastens the Pokéballs on to her belt before allowing me up on her shoulder, and then moves hesitantly toward the center of the lobby, where Tess and Ripper wait for us with hungry eyes.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Two

If I had thought Gramma Tess was off-putting in the Pokémon Center, on the streets she's intimidating. The crowds we had had to push through part effortlessly for her and Ripper, with a swiftness and hesitance that I thought was only reserved for Champions and celebrities. The few officers in uniform, and even the Growlithe trotting seriously by their feet, lower their heads as if greeting a commander; she nods back with a cool smile, but says nothing.

We walk past shops of every size and color, offering every knick-knack and dessert, to a neighborhood ringed with huge trees, clipped into shapes of Pokémon both familiar and foreign. Jolly-looking men who read newspapers in their lawn chairs look up and nod at us as we pass, and pools that glisten underneath the early-afternoon light. Finally, when the sun has started to reach its peak, Tess stops us in front of a brick-red house that sprawls wide. Everything has been meticulously cleaned and groomed, no blade of grass or leaf out of place.

It's different than the gaudy mansion I had expected, I guess, but there's still an air of wealth that reminds me dimly of Hearthome.

Everything inside is a combination of gold and ivory, black and russet. I wouldn't mistake it for homey, even with the fire place perched on the far wall—everything gleams as though it had been cleaned an hour ago. "Ripper," she calls, as she hangs her purse on the coat rack nearby, "go ahead and show them where they're staying. And then to the showers."

The hallways are surprisingly wide—I don't know if Tess had moved into this place with Ripper's size in mind, or if (more likely) she had had the place personally tailored to be more hospitable to her pet Dodrio. The head with angry eyes leads the way, occasionally turning once or twice to glare at us; the other two alternate between Sad Head cooing something to itself and Happy Head trilling off facts about his master.

"Master treats you well here! Fancy food!"

"And entrails," Angry Head adds. "Guts from kills that Ripper hunts for Master."

All three heads seem oblivious to True's flinch and my shudder, as Happy Head trills, "Cooked _very_ fancy. With spices!"

If I can make it through this unexpected trip without killing anyone, I think I'll take myself on an actual vacation. With no Dodrio in sight.

We pass a plethora of pictures and several twists and turns before Ripper finally stops outside of a door down a smaller hallway. "Keep big Pokémon in Pokéballs. Master just cleaned up this room," Happy Head interjects.

"Lucky for Not-Richie," Angry Head growls. "Don't mess things up."

It surprises me that she doesn't flinch under the critique, or even her "name"—even though she squeaks a timid "I won't," and grabs anxiously for the door handle, she doesn't shake. "I won't, I'll… it'll be nice and clean. Promise. You'll hardly know I'm here."

The Sad Head points to the door on the opposite side of the hallway. "Shower there. Clean first before sitting in bed. Master won't like smells in the blankets."

"They were best when they were hot," Happy Head chirps cheerfully. "Like sun-rocks. Except fluffier!"

The door handle gives, and True yanks us into the room, throwing her body against the door with gusto.

"Rude!" three scratchy voices trill. But after a few tense moments, nails start clicking on the redwood floor, as Ripper walks back down the hallway towards his mistress.

It's a significantly smaller room, more on par with the tiny storage rooms in the lab than the gigantic living room. Steely grays and pale blues dominate the room, accented by the yellow light that floods overhead. The moderate sized bookshelf houses more photo albums than novels, but every bit of space has been filled by tomes. I jump from True's shoulder to land on the thin black carpet below, and follow her as she moves toward the small window on the far-side of the room.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here," she admits.

"There's still time to get out of here," I say. "Find someone nicer to bunk with for a few days."

"She'd find me," True says simply, and sighs. "If we just... if we can keep it cool until we get the badge, we can get out. And we won't have to come see this place ever again."

I smile, despite myself.

She smiles back, before slipping her dirty yellow backpack off her shoulders. She holds it in her hands as she looks around the room, as if looking for a place that won't scuff up any pieces of plain furniture. "On the floor by the bed, or in the blanketed chair?"

I pause for a moment, pondering. "Floor's so dark it could hide the dirt, I guess."

After a hesitant pause, the backpack is placed on the ground; the belt of Pokéballs around her waist follows not long after. True sighs as she stands up, hands digging into her hips. "I could probably use a shower, though," she says, eyeing the door again. "Think he's gone?"

"Thought I heard him leave. You want me to go in with you, or...?"

"Shower can't be too dangerous. And it's not that big a hall." True turns to her backpack for a moment before shaking her head. "She should have shampoo."

She damn well better, if she forced us to come live with her. "Tell her you'll pay for whatever you take."

"We'll be broke in a week," she says, but laughs. "I shouldn't take too long, though. I guess just try to make yourself comfortable—"

"And not get anything out of place. I gotcha. Should I let anyone out?"

Her hand is on the door, already twisting it open. She tilts her head and thinks about it for a second, before shaking her head. "I don't know. I mean, as much as I love them—"

Immediately I'm brought back to the Lavender Town Pokémon Center, and shudder. I wouldn't want to be left alone with Britt or Jackson, especially not after this morning's... incident. Clara would probably be too big. I didn't trust Wilkes.

But there was still one other person.

True's voice interrupts my thoughts; I don't hear the words, but I have an idea of what she must have said, because she only smiles and shakes her head as she closes the door behind her.

I wait to hear the shutting of another door, of water being turned on—I hear True squeak with surprise; cold water, or hot?—before I move to the belt carefully placed on the floor beside the backpack. True had scratched little initials above each white button—I read "Cl" and "J" and "B" before I find "M." I touch the ball carved with "Ca" for one moment, before shaking my head and releasing Minka. She appears in a flash of red, disoriented and gaping, and turns to me with a quizzical expression on her face. "This can't be the Celadon Center," she muses quietly.

"It isn't," I sigh, and explain the past few hours.

She listens with a calm face, but even I can read the hesitance in her eyes as she looks around the room. "She simply had this room prepared? That seems strange."

"The woman is strange," I sigh. "All I know is that she's some hotshot rich lady in Celadon, and True doesn't like her. Hell, _I_ don't like her."

"I don't suppose we have to like her in order to benefit from her... generosity. For lack of a better word," she adds, as I open my mouth to say something. "She may simply be a woman with a few rough edges who wants to spend time with her granddaughter. It would make sense, especially if they haven't seen each other in a while."

"It may make sense, but that doesn't mean we need to do it—"

"If you had a chance to see family again, would you?"

 _Yes_. But like hell am I going to admit this to Minka. Instead, I cross my arms and sigh. "You haven't met her."

"You're right," she admits. "But until I do, I'm going to hold my judgement on her, for better or for worse. You've been wrong before, after all."

Across the hall, the water shuts off. My ears twitch as the sound of a blow dryer replaces it. "And True?" I ask.

She's more hesitant this time, but she sighs and says, "I haven't known her for very long, either. She's a very sweet girl, but there's just... I can't read her, sometimes."

I can't even get a reply out before the door opens forcefully. Grandma Tess herself steps into the room, so mismatched when compared to the rest of her house. She eyes me for one moment, indifferent, before turning to the Ivysaur by my side with a chuckle. "The team expands. I'll have to pay attention if I'm going to keep you all straight."

"You all," I mutter under my breath. As if that's supposed to win me over.

Minka's vine taps lightly on my shoulder, as firm a reprimand as she's able to give in this circumstance. "My name is Minka, ma'am, and I—"

"You _are_ part of the battling team, yes?"

Minka's eyes narrow. "Well, yes."

Technically, Tess doesn't need an invitation to come into a room in her own house, but it still feels like an invasion of privacy as she makes her way over to us. "And she's taking good care of you, in your... condition?"

The brown-tinted bud quivers for a moment, but Minka's face is calm as she answers, "Very good care, ma'am. She's given me the chance to do something I've wanted to do for a very long time."

Tess nods, and straightens herself up. "Well then. I'm sending Ripper out on a hunting expedition for dinner tonight soon. Please inform True that if she has any Pokémon who wish to accompany him, she should make sure they're out the back gate in an hour."

"Isn't that—"

"We'll pass the message along," Minka interrupts, and lowers her head. "Thank you for the invitation, and for the welcome."

Tess's smile is sickly sweet and jars too much with the sharp angles of her face—it's the only thing I can focus on as she slips through the door. I wait until I hear her heels clacking down the hallway before turning to Minka. "Told you."

"She wasn't _that_ horrible," Minka says. Her eyes narrow as she settles down on the carpeted floor; her ferny leaves droop like blankets against her sides. "Certainly not the most pleasant woman I've met, but nothing I haven't seen before."

The door opens, and True steps into the room again. A flushed hip peaks out from a blonde towel that's too small to cover her completely—it only stays in place because True has her arms tucked tightly against her sides, the bundle of old clothes in her hands—and her hair is half-dry in loose waves. She clicks the lock on the door shut before she turns to us, only blinking once in surprise to see Minka. "That wasn't Gramma I heard in here, was it?" she asks, as she sets the pile onto the small chair tucked away in the corner.

"It was," Minka says.

"She's invited anyone who wants to go _hunting_ —" I spit the word out, and it tastes horrible "—with Ripper. Guess he's the one who catches dinner."

Her face is still flushed from the shower, but she goes shock-still for a moment before burying her face in her hands. The towel shifts underneath her. "Is that even legal?" she asks.

"So long as she has a license, it is," Minka says. One gray-green vine extends toward the book case, tapping against the dark wood experimentally. "Interesting collection, isn't it," she murmurs. 

I avert my eyes as True gets up from the bed, letting the towel fall down where her feet had been. I hear bottles of Potions rattling in between the shifting sounds of clothes. When True settles back onto the bed again, I look up to see her fully clothed—a loose off-white shirt, a pair of dark jeans—and take that as an okay to join her. The mattress is firm, with only just enough give to keep from feeling like we're on the ground. I settle against her hip with a sigh, and lean into the touch of her fingers against my neck.

"It's going to be a hard few days," True murmurs.

Minka withdraws from the book shelf to rest by True's feet, and looks up at her with a kind smile on her face. "That's why we're here, dear. To help you through whatever challenges you may have to face."

"Speaking of which," I add, "when did you want to see about scheduling a match?"

"As soon as possible, I guess," True says.

* * *

 

 _Soon as possible_ ends up being over a dinner of baked Pidgey—courtesy of Ripper, who had gone hunting alone—and baked potatoes for True and Tess, who sat at a high table, glistening with polished glasses and silver utensils, and picked silently at their food. The rest of us had been delegated to the kitchen, feasting some deluxe brand of Pokechow. It was good, seasoned with some spices from Tess's gleaming kitchen and crunchy, but my attention was focused less on the food and more on the lack of conversation in the room.

Clara notices, and looks up from her empty plate. Her blue eyes were narrowed in a silent question. I shake my head. "Pretty sure I wouldn't be allowed in there."

In the tiniest of spaces between two huge bites, Britt scoffs. "Pretty sure you don't give a fuck."

Jackson's crushing the bits of kibble almost into powder between his claws as he says, "Just go if you want to."

I look up at Wilkes, who hovers over the kitchen counter with a stony expression on his face. "You'll never know for sure unless you take action yourself."

I feel Minka's vine along my shoulders, and stare into her warm red eyes. "We'll hear what you have to say afterward."

But it's Ripper, who nods with all three of his heads, who finally convinces me to ease onto the cool hardwood floors. I'm lucky that Tess's back is to the kitchen—she eats obliviously, her bird-like wings tucked in perfectly. True only gives herself away by her widening eyes, but even this is explained away with an airy "Great potatoes."

"Family recipe," Tess says, and I'm in under the draped table.

It's a pleasant darkness—the cloth's thin enough for some light to sneak through. I settle myself next to True's feet and sneak away the tiny bits of potato that have somehow fallen onto the ground. It's not where I would want to be—tucked away like a secret—but it's better than the kitchen, at least.

"It's good," True says after a moment.

It's a tense silence, one that hangs even when punctured with awkward comments—"Your mother's doing well?" "She's fine, thank you." "And Pallet?" "Hasn't changed since the last time you were there."—and the clatter of knives against forks. I'm used to eating in the middle of fierce debates from passionate interns, or sneaking bites in between training sessions. I can tell True isn't used to it either, judging by the way she's rocking her heels on the ground.

"So," True starts. "Do you ever… go see any matches at the gym?"

"Once in a while," I hear Tess say. "When I'm not too busy with my work. It's a very popular spectator sport in Celadon, even with the game corner just right down the road."

I never would have called staring at slots a spectator sport, but hell, I'm only a house pet, now.

"Can't exactly win money off of it, though, can you," the older woman chuckles. "That's one way we have them beat, especially since that string of awful battles."

Silverware clatters on the table above me. True's ankles cross. "Awful how?"

"They were _boring_ ," Tess scoffs. "Kids come in with their bugs and birds, when it's as obvious as anything they don't know how to use them. Grass-types are weak as anything, Ripper rarely battles and he could probably take them on—"

From the kitchen, three piercing cries.

"—But lately it's just been one knock-out match after another. Even the ones that are close end up going in Erika's favor." She pauses to take a dainty bite from something—the potato, I'm guessing, since I don't hear a crunch. "Would probably give this city a heart attack if someone was able to give a good match."

"Are they… are they spectator matches, like Cerulean?"

"Hardly the elaborate set up, but yes, something like that."

"So if she's taking matches…?" It's a slight lean, but there's no denying the bit of distance that's been closed between granddaughter and grandmother. I come close to pushing my head from underneath the tablecloth to watch. "We _are_ here to battle Erika, and…well, if there's—"

"They usually don't open up to challengers who want to battle," Tess says definitively.

Another awkward silence.

"But I _do_ have a special balcony where we could go sit."

How much influence does this woman fucking _have_ over Celadon? It isn't as though it's a tiny city, or has been in the past few years—one of the most highly-populated cities in Kanto _or_ Johto, with plenty of tourist attractions. My own mouth can't do anything but hang open as True clears her throat. "How does… you can do that?"

And fuck Tess, I can _hear_ the smug tone of her voice as she answers. "Well, let's just say I helped the Celadon Gym get back on its feet after a… particularly nasty incident with a pack of Growlithe. So in exchange for those services, I'm able to go and watch battles whenever I want. I haven't lately, of course, since they've all been so dreadfully awful… but I suppose if you're wanting an inside look, the offer's available."

A pause. "Just like that?" True asks, hesitant.

"Just like that," she repeats. "I'll have to go with you, of course, they won't let you in without me… and I'd have to take care of some business down at the game corner after we leave the gym. So long as you can accompany me, I don't see why we couldn't have ourselves a good time."

It seems too good an offer. "I don't know, it seems as though… like we're doing something wrong."

A scoff. "Well, if you don't want to come—"

"I do, but—"

I've been focused so much on True that the sudden slam of Tess's hands against the table makes me jump up. Both feet are firmly placed on the ground; the chair leans on its two back legs before falling to the ground. Any noise from the kitchen has stopped, so the only thing we can hear is Tess's sharp voice.

"I'm a very busy woman, True, and I haven't got all day to discuss the ethicalities of things."

True's knees are shaking as she replies. "It just seems that…"

Tess is quick to close the gap between their conversation. "If you have something to say, True, then say it."

I can't climb into her lap without Tess knowing about it, and the last thing I need is for True to get in more trouble. I push myself against her ankles and rub my paws against her legs as Tess picks her chair back up.

When it becomes clear that True isn't going to be saying anything, she sighs, and stands up again. "This will be the last time I extend this offer," Tess says icily. "Do you want to come, or not?"

And fuck if she gets mad that I came into her precious dining room, or that I defied her wishes—I rush right out from beneath the table. There's no room between her belly and the table for me to squeeze in, but she sees me and her eyes grow wide before she turns away. She tucks her chin into base of her neck, and her hair falls in her face.

I have to fight the urge to zap the cold look off of Gramma Tess's face.

And then, feather-light but there, audible— "Yes."

It's not enough for Tess, who has placed her cupped hands on the table in front of her. "Look at me with a straight face and tell me what it is you want."

I recognize Clara's screech, and turn towards the kitchen despite myself. Ripper has placed his giant body in the doorway, blocking anyone from coming in. His wings are useless for flight, given his heavy body, but they act well enough as shields.

I hear Jackson snarling and Clara shrieking but my attention is too focused on True's shaking shoulders to hear what they're saying or know what they're doing—

"I—"

"Hair out of your face, it muffles the sound."

Two shaking hands come up to tuck the offending locks behind her ears. There is no hiding the dark flush anymore.

And then, with a force and finality that silences the room, that lowers the ground beneath my feet— "I would… like to go with you to the Celadon Gym," True says, with an angry stare. "Please."

If she finds the sudden change in her granddaughter's demeanor surprising, Tess doesn't show it. She sets her knife and fork on her empty plate and reaches for her cup of water. "Then we'll leave at nine in the morning. Sharp. I trust you'll be prepared."

Without a word, True nods, lifts herself up from the chair, and flies to the bedroom.

They're not the only ones who leave; as soon as she's gone and Ripper has moved himself from the doorway, Jackson and Clara rush after her. Minka, who is slower but adamant in her pursuit, eyes me with a sadness that chokes—I look away as her heavy footsteps echo against the floor.

I have no idea where Wilkes is, and frankly, I don't care. Britt's the only one who stays in the room with me, leaning her back against the door frame.

"I'd just had that floor polished."

Every bit of me is shaking as I glare at Tess and Ripper, who have turned to their own devices once again. " _That's_ what you're worried about? Your floors matter more than your own granddaughter?"

"I didn't say they were more important. And there's nothing wrong with a bit of speech therapy. She needs to be a stronger speaker if she plans on going anywhere in life."

"She's  _sixteen!_ "

"That's no excuse," she bites back, and turns to look down at me. "If she intends to pursue battling as a professional career—"

"You don't know that!" I yell, as I start to trail after True.

"Do you?"

I stop. Turn. Britt hasn't said a word, but she's looking at me now, with a frown and narrowed eyes. They're expecting an answer. I don't have one to give. It's not my decision. I glare at Tess as electricity sparks across my cheeks. "It doesn't matter what she wants to do, or if she's figured everything out. Not to me, and not to you."

With a disgusted snort, Britt walks down the hallway, back to True and the others. Neither Tess or I give her a second glance.

"Her father was the same when he was young," Tess says. "A bleeding heart. Everyone used to walk all over him—he'd let them because he didn't know any better. It wasn't until Richie grew a damn spine that people started taking him seriously, and he started getting jobs." She stands back up and starts collecting dishes, reaching over the table with steady hands to take the half-empty plate from True's end of the table. "It's worse for girls. She needs to act tough if she's going to survive. No matter what she decides to do."

Instead of the words that pop into my head, I tell her, "She has a support system."

"Pokémon come and go as much as humans do," she says dismissively. Ripper's Angry Head lifts up for a moment, but settles back down to rest on the ground. "She has to be strong with herself, or any achievements she might have won't matter."

There's nothing more for me to say. I know enough about being a stubborn asshole set in his ways to see another one, and she's a master. I turn my back on her and walk four paces before I stop. Turn. Growl, "I'd rather her be a bleeding heart than a murdering thief in jail."

She doesn't say anything in reply. The chair screeches against the wood floor as it's pushed back. Plates and silverware clatter together as high heels click against the hardwood floor of the dining room, the cool tile of the kitchen.

"Nine in the morning," she says. "Not a minute later."

I leave her and her demon bird and join the rest of my team.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Three

There had been days where I'd slept with True just like this: wrapped up in her arms, humming a silly song under my breath, with her fingers absently tracing patterns along my back. And they'd always be days—she'd come to the lab in the summertime with dark rings underneath her eyes, her hair tangled into mats from tossing and turning all through the night. One summer, she had slept in one of the tiny rooms reserved for interns, with me held tight in her arms. She'd told me once that it was the best sleep she'd ever had.

I think she would have kept doing that if it weren't for her mother trying to get her back on a regular schedule. Daytime naps gradually changed to daytime cuddles, and then to just quiet time. It became a ritual, and even one of the favorite parts of my day. Stupid, naïve me had thought she'd be alright once she started her journey, could pick her own pace.

She had been alright though, for the most part. True hasn't had a night like this for a while—she'd come close near Mount Moon, and in Vermilion after the attack. But we'd sat there for hours until even she couldn't keep her eyelids open; we'd get up again, and her eyes would be a little less dark, and her mouth would be a little less sad.

That isn't the case tonight. True holds me all through the night, into the wee hours of the morning and past the sunrise. The blinds and windows had all been thrown wide open into the sky when I had pushed myself onto that room, with True wrapped up in the blankets; I'm glad for them now, when I can taste the night air slowly being replaced by leaves and dew.

But even though True has the door locked and the blankets pulled over, and her arms wrapped so tightly around me, this is something I know for sure: it had been just True and me in Mount Moon and in Vermilion. Tonight, and all throughout the morning, the others had been right there with us: Jackson, curled up at True's feet; Minka and Clara on the sides, each just an arm's stretch away; Britt, resting in the chair tucked away in the corner; and Wilkes, silently hovering in front of the window. They'd been silent in their vigil, save for a few soft croonings from Clara and the sound of Britt's tail brushing against the oak.

It was the first time I'd felt unified with all of them at once.

I'm sluggish and blurry-eyed as I open my eyes. Golden light is streaming through the open window, making it difficult to see Wilkes. True shifts beside me; her grip's relaxed enough that I can slip through without disturbing her.

"She's gotten a few hours," Britt says softly. "Finally conked out around five."

I have to concentrate to see the time. 8:10. "Normal," I say around a yawn. "At least she was able to get some sleep."

"We gonna get an explanation for all of this at some point?"

I turn to True, who shifts again—I think it's her leg that moves this time. "Later. Right now..."

She doesn't look convinced, or even pleased, but she nods and closes her eyes, saying nothing.

It takes me a few minutes to really wake up, but when I do I turn to Wilkes, who turns toward me with interest. "Anything out there?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "A few Butterfree flying toward their spawning grounds, maybe one or two street Meowth. Nothing of concern."

I lay back against the mass of blankets that's True's body, and sigh. "It'll be a long day if she doesn't decide to go."

"It will be better," says a sleepy Minka, "if she gets some sleep. Even if that means not accompanying her—"

"Hag?" Britt scoffs.

Minka mutters something under her breath before she responds. "She's not a _hag_ , Britt, watch your manners."

True groans something under the blankets, and brings them up back over her head. I have to grab onto the dark sheets to avoid falling to the floor, or worse—knocking into a still-slumbering Jackson. 

I don't know if it's because most of us had been up all night, or if watching the sunrise just makes people quiet, but the only noise comes from bodies stretching and bones popping until Jackson and Clara wake up. The Charmeleon blinks up at us with sleepy eyes, and opens his mouth to ask a question; but he stops when I shake my head and point to True, who has stopped shifting.

"She gonna be okay?" he whispers, rolling his shoulders.

I can't say anything for sure.

Finally, when the clock reads ten to nine, True emerges from her cocoon of blankets. The tell-tale dark circles rest heavy underneath her eyes, and pieces of her hair are sticking up on end. She looks between all of us before she sighs. "I kept you all up, didn't I?"

"Don't think about that," I say, before Britt can open her big mouth. "You sleep okay?"

She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, blinking furiously. "Mmmmmm. No, but... I don't know."

Jackson uncurls himself slightly, keeping his tail elevated from the blankets. "We gonna go with the lady?"

I have to suppress the groan that threatens to bubble up. True just shakes her head and leans to scratch Jackson behind his horn. "Not today."

Heels and clawed feet click-clack across the wood floor outside the door. There's a pause, heavy and charged. I don't know if Tess knows that all of us are crowded in the small room that had been loaned to us; I don't know if she even cares anymore.

She knocks on the door. We don't move or say a word or do anything, until we hear Tess sigh on the other side. "I can assume, judging by the unopened door, that you aren't coming with us today."

It's not even a question anymore.

"I won't be home until late. There's makings for you in the fridge, and Pokémon food in the pantry. I trust your mother taught you how to fend for yourself." 

Jackson curls his lip above his teeth and growls. It's the only sound on either side of the door for several moments. I hear something shift on the other side of the door—Ripper, perhaps, growing anxious; or maybe Tess adjusting her coat or her hat—as True, still sitting cross-legged on the bed, turns her head to the sudden sound of a turning knob.

"Master will be late for meeting," one of Ripper's heads trill—I think it's the sad head, but I would never put money on such a bet.

8:58.

"Thank you, Ripper," Tess sighs. The knob stills. "No one should come to visit you, and I trust your team of Pokémon will be able to protect you."

True only stares at the door and the once-moving knob. It's Minka who answers: "We will keep this place in the condition you leave it, if not better."

"Very well."

8:59.

Nails and heels start to click-clack back down the hallway, before they stop. Tess's voice is fainter than it had been just a minute prior, close to the door, but we hear them just the same. "The next time you ask me for a favor, don't throw it away because you don't like the conditions."

The sounds of click-clacking grow fainter. A door shuts definitively.

The crudely-painted Pidgey at the top of the clock chirps once, twice, nine times, before stilling into silence.

"Punctual," Minka notes, impressed.

"So what do we do now?" Jackson asks, blinking wide eyes up at True.

I'm right there against her hand before she has a chance to try grabbing for me. The other hand runs through her tangled hair as her thumb rubs against her temple. "I don't know."

Minka stands up shakily, ruffling her ferny leaves. "Perhaps what we need is a good breakfast. And then we can go back to bed? It's been a while since we've had a time to just... rest."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good," I say. I turn to True and squeeze her thumb with my paw. "We can make it, if you want."

But True shakes her head adamantly. "No, I... I need to be useful."

She's still in the clothes from yesterday. True has to catch her balance once against the side table, but is otherwise steady as she leads us out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

The house feels different when we know that there's no Tess or Ripper lurking in a corner—it's as though the place is holding its breath, anxious to see what we're going to do inside. Wilkes moves after us to open the blinds and push back the curtains, allowing sunlight to stream in. It changes us immediately; I can almost feel Minka and Jackson perk up with the sunlight exposure, and even True seems to smile.

I watch Jackson and Clara head for the sizable yard while True and Minka head to the kitchen. Together they open the doors wide-open, and even from the ground I can tell it's incredibly well-stocked. Minka takes a cucumber in her vine and squeezes, and sighs with pleasure. "She certainly knows how to pick her vegetables."

"You would appreciate that," Britt scoffs, peering over at us from the kitchen corner.

"Anyone should be able to appreciate good produce," Minka retorts, placing the green thing back in its place.

"Won't we have to pay this stuff back?" I ask.

"She wouldn't've offered food if she didn't expect us to use it," Britt growls.

She has a point, but still. I turn to Minka, who shrugs before pulling out a carton of eggs—"They're even full, goodness!"—and setting it on the counter. "What're you hoping to make with those?" I laugh.

"Breakfast usually means eggs, doesn't it?" Minka chuckles. She starts opening doors under the sink. "Where would I find…?"

True's laugh brings my eyes back up to her; there's still a weariness in her eyes, but she's smiling. "You thinking of making us breakfast?"

"No open flames for me," the Ivysaur tuts. "Or electric."

"It's gas," True says, as she flicks the light on and off with a twist of her wrist.

"Then definitely not. No, I need to make sure _you_ get fed, dear. And after breakfast is done, I'm thinking that we should look around the city—"

"Screw that," Britt chuckles. "If we want to get out of that bitch's hair as soon as possible, we need to fight the gym, not go around exploring the city and trying on dresses and anything else you all did in Vermilion."

"We can't exactly train if we don't know where we're going," I sigh. "Celadon's even bigger than Vermilion—"

"That's what maps are for—"

"It's not like we have a map of Celadon handy," I say. "And the gym's only one building in a thousand—"

"Stop doing that!"

I hadn't even realized that Jackson had followed us, but I see him jump when Wilkes materializes out of thin air just above his head. The Charmeleon narrows his green-blue eyes and growls.

Wilkes starts speaking as if nothing has happened. "Perhaps it would be best if Clara and I went in search of the gym, seeing as we can see the city from a better point of view."

There are so many things I could say to that, but I choose the most logical. "Two Pokémon flying around, without trainers, in one of the largest hubs for Pokémon Trainers in Kanto," I deadpan. "I don't see how _that_ could go wrong."

Wilkes's eyes narrow. "Do you doubt our strength?"

I don't trust Wilkes enough to know what he'd do if I gave him my real answer. Instead, I cross my arms. "I doubt many trainers around here have any common sense."

"Besides, how'd you even know what the gym looked like?" Britt interjects.

"I'm sure we could figure it out."

True turns to us with a dripping whisk in her hand. "I'd feel safer if we all went together. Then we'd all know where we were going."

"And sometimes it's nice to enjoy ourselves in the big city," Minka says, adjusting her leaves with her vines. "So long as we return at a relatively decent hour, I don't see anything wrong with exploring."

True looks up to the ceiling for a moment, sighs, and shrugs. "I guess if we do go out—and I'm not saying we are," she says, as Jackson's face lightens up. "But if we go out, and we do get lost, we can fly back on Clara. I think I know the way back here."

"Fine enough," Britt scowls, "except for needing a key to get back in. And somehow I don't think you're the breaking and entering type."

True puts down the whisk and the bowl with a sigh, and nods. "I doubt we could just leave the door unlocked."

Even if this wasn't the home of a psycho old woman who seemed to have the city wrapped around her finger, I doubt we would be safe. Big cities weren't like tiny towns like Pallet, where naming every resident took less than five minutes. "Don't think she'd be the type to have a key, either."

Soft laughter draws my attention up to Wilkes, who's smiling gently. "You'd hardly be in need of a key when you have a Pokémon who can phase through walls."

I narrow my eyes. "Isn't that the same thing as breaking and entering?"

"We have been invited here by the owner of the household, and were invited to do as we wished. In my time—"

"When Aerodactyl were flying around," I mutter under my breath.

"That was all you needed," the Gastly continues, as if I hadn't said anything. "It remains the same for ghost-type Pokémon."

True narrows her eyes, looks up at the ceiling, and sighs. "I'll... make a decision after breakfast. Maybe I can just call the gym to schedule an appointment."

Minka nods. "Well, that settles that. Eggs and milk… with a bit of flour, I think we could make ourselves some excellent pancakes."

Jackson tilts his head at the word and scampers over to stand beside True—he has to tilt his head so that the horn touches the back of his neck in order to see on the counter. "Those are things you can eat?"

"Only the best," True says, tapping one of his nostrils with a finger.

I use a few opened drawers to jump up onto the counter, and leave pawprints in the thin bits of flour that have been blown on the marble surface. True looks over at me, like she's surprised to see me there. "Figured I could do something to help," I say, and she only replies with a syrup-sweet laugh.

"If you're going to make pancakes," Britt calls from the ground, "you need more than flour and eggs. Get some oil and baking powder."

Minka's checking in the lower cabinets for something—I hear the clatter of pots and pans disturbed by the touch of her vines. "How did you learn how to make pancakes?"

"I don't know how exactly to make them," Britt says, "but Eunice taught me enough to know you're doing it wrong." Her tail is fluffed and there's a crease between her furrowed brow, but she's smirking, at least, which has to mean something. "And I doubt a woman that tall is going to have a step stool, especially when she has a demon bird."

"Well, pardon me for trying," the Ivysaur grunts.

"Okay, okay," True laughs. "It's been a while since I've made them from scratch, too, but I bet if we all work together we'll be able to figure this out."

It ends up being an absolute mess, with flour everywhere and Jackson trying to eat the eggshells and Clara almost singing a few of her feathers from getting too close to the pan—but eventually we're able to get a few stacks of (only partially burnt) pancakes onto plates. True is even able to maneuver herself to grab a few bowls of Pokéfood—"You can't _only_ have pancakes," she says, and though the remark is directed at Jackson I'm pretty sure she means it for all of us—to serve as a side. She grabs a melon and two of the plates, letting Minka serve the others.

"Hang off on mine for a bit," I say, "this mess is going to drive me crazy."

True turns around. "You sure?"

I nod, laughing a bit. "This is going to drive me crazy if I don't do it now."

Minka raises her brow but chuckles and nods. "I'll try to keep yours from being eaten."

There's a clatter of forks and bubbles of laughter from the other room—I'm able to peer out the tiny window to see the team and True sitting in a circle. True's cross-legged and clumsily eating syrup-covered pancakes, and though I can see the dabs of syrup on her mouth even from here, she's smiling, and that's enough. Jackson is diving into his pancakes as enthusiastically as Peter might have—it makes me smile, and I laugh before turning back to the powdered mess.

I'm scrubbing the counters one last time with a few paper towels as Wilkes hovers above me, separate from the rest of the team gathered in the living room. I feel his eyes resting heavy on me, but it isn't until I can see my face gleaming in the marble that I look up at him. "You going to have some?"

Wilkes blinks once, twice, before tilting his head. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." 

"You know," I say after a pause. "Pancakes."

"Ghost-types don't consume much human food," the Gastly says. "We feed off the energy of others."

On impulse, I move a ways away from him. He only chuckles, though, and turns again to the team. "It's good energy. Refreshing, after years of mourning."

Well, the people who had reason to visit Lavender Tower probably wouldn't have been _happy_. "She... they don't get hurt from it?"

He doesn't pretend to miss my meaning. "No. It only affects me and my own well-being."

"One less mouth to feed, I guess," I mutter.

To my surprise, Wilkes chuckles and nods. "I do have a mouth, however. Perhaps one bite won't hurt any."

"Not off my plate."

Clara shrieks in the other room, and I hear Jackson whining. The surfaces are gleaming enough for my tastes, so I jump back down onto the ground and push through the swinging door. I feel Wilkes following me, but pay it little mind—Minka's handing over my plate of Pokéfood and half-eaten pancakes with an apologetic grin. Jackson's bulging cheeks are enough for me to piece together what happened. "You little shit," I tease.

The Charmeleon seems surprised, but nods, offering me a shy grin.

True sighs contentedly as she lays down on the floor, stretching her arms up into the sky. "This was really nice, guys. Thank you."

Britt burps loudly, pounding her chest with a fist. "Well, what were we supposed to do, pull up a chair in a cafe somewhere and spend money we don't have?"

"Oh, I didn't mind that at all," Minka sighs. "A nice relaxing meal, people watching..."

"Splitting three sandwiches six ways wasn't fun," I scoff, as I take one of hard morsels into my mouth. It's crunchy and flavorful, nothing like the shit they'd offer in the lab—not my idea of a good meal, to be sure, but it's definitely a few steps up from cardboard.

True giggles and looks down at me, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Because _you_ were so busy eating."

My cheeks grow warm, and I look away. I hear True laugh again, before the mechanical voice of the Pokédex starts chirping something or other.

"Speaking of which," Minka says, "how _did_ you meet that Eevee?"

I catch True's eye, but she's just smiling at me with the red machine in her hand. I sigh and pick at the last soggy pancake. "We were partners in the lab—an' it wasn't like that," I mutter, when Minka lifts a brow suggestively. "Work related. Completely professional. Not at all—"

"Oh, not the way you're talking about her," Minka laughs.

I raise a brow.

"No, it's not a bad thing. But I know enough to know what's 'strictly professional' and what isn't. And that lunch, my dear—"

"Was a one-time thing," I say. "She's off being a battler." And probably doing really well. "An' anyway, even if I _did_ have... you know. It's not the right time."

"This is all nice and everything, but this sort of relationship drama is something I do _not_ want to hear about," Britt laughs, as she shoves another dripping pancake into her mouth.

I open my mouth to say something, but at that moment there's a knock at the door.

The downy feathers around Clara's neck fluff up as she turns to the entrance hall. Jackson starts to move toward the door, but the Fearow grabs his horn and wraps him in her wings, holding fast.

"What do we do," Minka asks in a low whisper.

We get an answer from a low voice, muffled from the wood. "Miss Fargone, we need you to answer the door."

Tess is at work, though, and we have no idea when she'll be back—

I hear Clara growl as she tightens her grip, but it's Britt's hissed " _Miss_ " that catches my attention the most. She looks up at True, narrow-eyed and tight-lipped.

"We know you're in there, Miss Fargone," another voice says. "We need you to open the door and come with us."

"Don't make a move," Wilkes breathes; before any of us can do anything, he slips through one of the opened windows. I hear a hissing at the door and a rattling, and my body freezes. I don't know what's out there, or if anyone else is around, and can ghost-Pokémon even _die_?

"Miss Fargone—"

But the question is interrupted by a loud shriek. Someone yells, and someone slams against the wall. True's grip is vice-like around me, and Clara spits. I can hear Jackson struggling in Clara's embrace and Britt trying to shut him up, and Minka's doing nothing.

We weren't prepared for this. _I_ was never prepared for this. The worst you got in Pallet Town was a few blood feuds, and even then they were mild. There was no trying to rush people in their houses, or drag them out—in a small community where communication was key, the worst people did was shut each other out.

As suddenly as the noise had started, it stops. One heartbeat, two, five. Minka starts to move toward the door, but Britt hisses a sharp "You take another step and I'll blow you into the kitchen," which freezes the older Ivysaur in her tracks.

That's when the Haunter phases through the door. The long clawed hands are held close to his dark purple body, and the large eyes—only just tinted with purple, now, instead of bright and glowing—are familiar and somber.

"They won't stay asleep for very long," the specter says, examining his clawed hands with interest. "But I have seen them before. You need to get everyone back in their balls and get out of here, now."

Clara hisses and Jackson fires a ball of flame at the Haunter—he catches it in one hand, winces, and shuts his hand, dissipating the fire. "I would appreciate you not attacking me."

True grabs a ball off of her belt and points it toward the floating ghost-type Pokémon with a shaking hand. "Are you—?"

"Recall me if you wish, Master, but you still have to run. You _must_."

I don't have enough time to reflect on "Master" before red beam sucks Wilkes back into the ball; instead I watch as he disappears with a frown on his face. We're all left speechless for a few moments before Jackson finally muscles his way out of Clara's grip. "Run?"

It's that question from Jackson that startles me back into moving. Move. _Move_ because there were men outside of the door and _oh, Arceus._ Don't freak out. Breathe. "Jackson, go back into the room and grab the backpack. Everyone else—"

"I'll make sure there aren't any more goons hiding," Britt snaps. I open my mouth to say something, like  _that's the exact opposite of what we should do, what if—_ , but Clara shrieks and follows her, her wings already starting to unfurl, leaving me and True and Minka in the room alone.

True's still motionless, still clasping Wilkes's Pokéball. I force her to stare at me, right at me, holding her face in my paws. "True, is there anywhere else you think we can go?"

She shakes her head.

"The police need to be contacted first," Minka says.

"Do _you_ know where the police station is?" I ask, sharper than intended.

"No," she admits, "but there should be signs—"

"Then we'll look for 'em while we get away from here," I say. Breathe in, breathe out. "Right now go'n'make sure that Jackson's got everything, I don't know if he knows what to grab."

Minka stumbles away without a word. For precious moments it's just me and True in that living room, with half-eaten dishes and sticky tabletops. "You gonna be okay to run, or do we need to fly?"

Her hands are shaking as they come to rest against my sides—shaking fingers grab fur and loose skin, and her breath is hot and moist and coming in short gasps. "I can't—I think—"

"You grab onto me," I say. Slow and steady. My heart's beating fast but I have to be slow, be _here_. "You hear me?"

She blinks once, twice, and there's clarity coming back, I can feel it.

"You let us know if you can't run and we'll get on Clara. But we need the police—"

"But what if," she starts, and her hands are shaking so badly that the room is jumping too. "Casey, what if something's happened to her? If they're in danger—"

I can't say because I don't know, and even though I don't care I can't let her know it. I take a deep breath. "We need to be safe first. Nobody's gonna get helped if we stay here. Do you understand?"

She nods. When I hear rushed footfalls down the hallway I turn the slightest bit away from her. Jackson and Minka are running towards us—the familiar faded backpack, now bursting at the seams with hastily-stored clothes and Arceus knew what, is hanging by one strap from Jackson's arm.

True's still shaking like a leaf, and there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to carry that thing. "We have to let the police figure that out." Breathe. Arceus, Case, you have to breathe. Turn to Jackson. "Can you carry that?"

Minka has to help him adjust his arms, and he sags a bit under the weight, but the Charmeleon nods. "Ready."

"Then up we get, True. We gotta run."

She squeezes me tight and buries her nose against my neck, takes a deep breath. I give her five seconds, five heartbeats, before I press my nose against her collarbone. She stands up, her fingers digging into my skin, and nods. "Run. Run, okay. You ready to run?"

Jackson doesn't wait for an answer. The door is ajar, left open by Britt or Wilkes or maybe one of our visitors. I see a flash of green and hear an apologetic "I'll slow you down" as Minka is absorbed in red light.

I know I'll hate myself for thinking she's right, but not now.

True swings the door open and freezes again. I look down and see. The dark purple body of an Arbok rests limp across the bodies of two men, each sandy-haired and snoozing. They aren't in the dark uniforms that I've seen in pictures and in the news; they're business suits, perfectly tailored and now covered with dirt. But somewhere in the scuffle the jackets had been torn open, and there on the left breast is the familiar flaming red "R", plain as day.

Any doubts I had had about Tess vanish; the only reason I don't shock them is because True would get caught in the blast.

Clara is already at the end of the driveway, anxiously beating her wings; Britt waves us over impatiently, her furry ears fluffed up and twitching. "Get the fuck over here, they could wake up any moment!"

And then there's fire.

My tail slams against Jackson's Pokéball just as he releases burst of flames in the Arbok's direction. They catch its hood, singing the purple skin—even from here I can smell poison treated by fire, acrid and nausea-inducing. I have to fight to keep my breakfast down as I scream, "Jackson!"

"They hurt!" he screeches, looking up at us. I can't see his irises his pupils are so big, but I can see his tail flame, white-hot and crackling. "On the boat, they hurt!"

" _We'll_ get hurt if we stay here!" I say, and nudge into True. "We have to move, _now!_ "

True's heart is thundering under me again, but she grabs Jackson's clawed paw and tugs forcefully. He budges on the third tug and sends another ball of flame in the direction of the fallen Rockets, but he comes, grumbling under his breath.

Britt meets us with a snarl of distaste. "Fuckers'll be up in seconds!"

I turn to Clara. "How many of us can you carry?"

Jackson snarls behind us, drawing every head. I see the large Arbok pick itself off the ground and turn to us, the tip of its tail rattling threateningly. Jackson fires a few balls of flame, but the Arbok dodges them effortlessly, bending underneath the projectiles. It covers the distance at an alarming rate—

I'm up in the air and Clara has the backpack in her talons and Jackson is a beam of red light—

Britt's smashed against me and we're both smashed against True's chest as Clara clumsily pushes off the ground. Tess Fargone's house disappears in a few heavy wingbeats as we climb, heading straight for the heart of the city.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Four

If there's one thing I can say for the Celadon police, it's that they make finding themselves easy. Maybe not from the ground—buildings get lost in the seas of passerby and shops. But from up in the skies, the blue-black roof sticks out from the cheery yellows and rust reds and slate grays.

"Down there, down!" I yell, pushing the base of Clara's neck with my paws.

She shrieks as she makes her descent. Air is zipping across my face and blowing True's hair into my mouth. It's all any of us can do to stay on, the way Clara wobbles in her descent—when we're feet away from impact, the Fearow drops the backpack before crashing onto the roof. The only reason Britt and I don't go flying is because True is gripping us so tightly; we all land together, us held fast to True's chest as she lands on her side.

I'm out of her arms and near her face before she starts crying out, checking for any damage. Her hair's snarled itself into tangles, and there's a faint smell of blood that I can't find the source of, but she looks at me and her pupils aren't dilated. "You okay?"

There's only a slight smell of blood—bits of skin have been pulled away in flakes, leaving some smeared blood over her shoulder. But though her breaths are quick and her hold is firm, it isn't frantic, and her voice is steady as she says, "Yeah, I'm okay. We're fine."

"Glad to hear it," Britt says, "but I'm pretty sure Birdie isn't."

True has me in one arm as she pushes herself up onto her feet. I see Britt dusting off her shell, but my eyes are all for Clara, who's a shuddering lump on the ground. One wing is held tight to her side, but the other is held aloft, awkwardly bent. She's still moaning when True comes to kneel beside her, and flinches only when one straying hand hovers too close to her joint.

"You did so good," True murmurs. "You did so, _so_  good. Thank you."

It's weak, the warble, but I hear it, and Clara's nodding and panting.

"She needs back in her ball," Britt says. "I doubt the cops want a giant bird in their office."

"Don't do it when she's in shock."

All of us turn to the sound of the voice. A heavyset woman with a shock of blue hair stares at us, one hand already on her gun belt. "What's all the commotion?"

I hear words—True explaining, the officer asking questions, Britt offering snide remarks—but my eyes are all for the black-and-orange Growlithe who's staring me down, with her fangs and the way her tail's fluffing out and the bits of flame that are being spat out—

"We were just eating breakfast, and then…"

Bright eyes and hot hot fire—

"And you say this was _Tess Fargone's_  place?"

Blood on a sandy field, the dying noises of a crowd that had been thunderous in applause and cheers, the dying sounds of—

"…take you in. At ease, Scout, you're gonna scare that Pikachu to death."

Scout breaks eye contact and it's like I've been freed from a spell. I have to fight to keep myself from falling to the ground; I feel electricity tickle my cheeks as I start breathing deeply.

Clara hisses as the officer comes toward us. She seems to take it in stride, but keeps only a few feet of distance between herself and us. "Let her calm down a bit before calling her back in her Pokéball. Nurses don't like it when they're riled up like that."

It gives me time to calm down, at least, and to fight away the pictures in my head.

I hear the Growlithe whine "I didn't mean to frighten him" but my attention is more focused on True, who positions me so that my belly is against her chest, and cradles me like I'm a baby. "Shhh. We're going to be okay. You're okay."

We repeat the words to each other as Scout and the officer lead us down the staircase and onto the main floor. Pressed against True's chest, I don't see much of the open room, but several Kadabra and an Exeggutor do catch my eye. They lounge by the open windows, soaking up rays as they watch us with lazy eyes.

"You hire Pokémon as officers?" Britt asks.

"Special force teams, yeah," the Growlithe barks. "Humans have all their fancy technology, but sometimes it just pays to have a good sniffer, y'know?"

"Mine's not too good," Britt says, "so I'll be taking your word for it."

I hear the Growlithe laugh, a rough sharp sound. "Used to know a Blastoise on the fire squad who reminds me of you. Burly, maybe a little thick in the head—"

I can't help the snort of laughter; True notices, but says nothing.

"—But one of the best squad leaders they ever had. In case you were thinkin' about doing the whole 'in service' thing."

"Well, I'm already tryin' to lead a team," Britt says. "But we'll see."

I'm too focused on keeping my breathing even to reply, and I don't know if I would have anything to say anyway. I listen to True's heart and breathe songs underneath my voice—melancholy songs I used to sing when Al was traveling through Kanto, drinking songs that he'd shared with me on his rare visits to Pallet Town.

Before I know it we're in a dark room, with all mirrors. I hear Britt scramble onto something, and see the chair only when True sits down beside her. Britt's eyes are a heavy weight on my skin but I don't pay attention, just keep the Growlithe out of my sights. I don't even flinch when the policewoman cleans up True's cut, and wraps it up with white bandage tape.

"There we go. Maybe HQ'll let us put in the landing pads if this keeps happening."

"Or maybe you should," Britt starts to say, but when Scout growls at her, she falls silent. I flinch away from the sound, and True's other hand comes to tease the hair along my thigh.

"Anyway. I'm Officer Jem, and I'll just be asking you a few questions." She flips on the recorder and settles into her chair with a contented sigh. "Always good to have a record to go back to, isn't that right?"

True's grip is tight as she nods.

"Audio only, miss. You'll have to be audible."

She takes a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am."

Officer Jem leans over the table, folding her arms in front of her. "Nobody's going to bite your head off, y'know. Just repeat what you told me on the roof, alright?"

And she does. Her voice is strong, only shaking when she describes the two Rockets. "We left the door open, I think… they had an Arbok who had started to come after us. That's when I jumped on my Fearow and came here."

"That's good. Good. And Mrs. Fargone wasn't there at the time of the… incident?"

"No," True says. "She'd left for work about… two hours before. Right?" she asks. When I nod, she continues, "And we were just eating breakfast."

"And you had been there because…?"

"She invited me," True says, and looks down where her hands are clasped in her lap.

"I see," Officer Jem says. "Alright. We'll try and get in contact with Mrs. Fargone to alert her of the situation. You wouldn't happen to know—?"

"This is the first time I've seen her in… in _years_ ," True says. "And even then I don't know all that much about her." 

"Just that she's a Houndoom in Mareep's clothing," I mutter under my breath.

I don't expect to hear the good woman in blue chuckle, but chuckle she does. "Point. I've already sent a team out to investigate the property. You can stay right here if you like, or you can go ahead and take your leave." When I turn to her, she's eyeing us with a smile on her face. "I hear the Gym's accepting appointments for battles, if that's something that interests you."

It's only then that I remember that True hadn't had the time to schedule an appointment for a battle. Now I wonder if that's even an option anymore. Her hand brushes the side of my head as she answers, "Maybe." 

"Swell. If you do leave, I need a way to get in contact with you… or even just a way to track you down. You have any Psychic-type Pokémon with you?"

Britt's ears perk up with interest. "What's that got to do with anything?" 

"Until they make walkee-talkees less expensive or somebody in Johto or Hoenn starts exporting their mobile phones, it's the best way to communicate with moving parties. We think they're able to access this sort of… network thing. It's all mysterious and way over my head, but that'd be a way we could get a hold of you."

True shakes her head. "No. I mean, I have a Haunter, but…"

Jem chuckles and shakes her head. "Nah. They're only good for interfering with the signals. S'why we have to rely on email to talk with the folks in Lavender." She pauses. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

"And Blabbermouth wonders why she isn't invited to go out on the field," Scout mutters.

"Anyway," she stresses, "it's either we slap you with a carrier Pidgey, or you tie yourself down to the Pokémon Center. There are worse situations to be in."

Like what, getting mugged? It's unlikely that Team Rocket would try and storm a Pokémon center, granted. I don't say this, though, but instead turn my head toward Britt. Her paws are resting on the lip of her shell, and her head is bowed. She looks as though she's deep in thought. I can't bring myself to wonder what she's thinking about.

"Of course, there's always a cot here," Jem says. "I think it's burrito night—"

But the "No" slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and when True looks down at me I realize I didn't want it to. "No. No, the... the Center's fine."

Jem shrugs. "Suit yourself. It's a pretty big city and you don't seem to know it well, so I'll just send Scout to guide you—"

"No," I say again. "No." No fire no stripes no sandy fields, no no no—

"I'm sure there will be street signs," True says, as she brings a hand to rest against my back. "Besides, you're probably too busy to take us back to the Center. With everything you have to do."

I hear Officer Jem sigh. Papers rustle. "Suit yourself. I'll call ahead to the Center with your name. They should have a room set up for you by the time you get there."

"Great," Britt says. "Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. We'll give you a call in case we need anything else."

I feel True nod and feel her heart beat, steady and confident and sure, as she stands up and moves away from the wooden chair. She shoulders her backpack on her uninjured arm, and bows her head. "Thank you. For everything."

"That's what we're here for," Jem says. "Protect and serve."

I close my eyes and focus on True's heartbeat, True's breathing, the _slap slap_ of Britt's webbed feet against the tile floor—

And then, when True's hand is just hovering over the polished door handle, Scout yelps. "Oh! If Mrs. Fargone wants to get a hold of you, should we give her your number?"

_Tha-dump tha-dump thump._

"Just tell her we're at the Pokémon Center," True says quietly, and opens the door.

* * *

 

"So explain to me again why we can't just go find the old hag ourselves?" Britt asks.

"Because," Minka sighs, "the second Team Rocket gets involved is the second the local authorities take over. And unless my eyesight has started to fail without my knowing, the local authorities don't look like a hotheaded Wartortle."

"Like we're going to be doing anything productive here," Britt scowls.

"So long as everyone's safe, it doesn't matter what we do," True sighs. She flops onto the bed belly-up; the pillows jump up as the mattress threatens to pull True deep in its embrace. "They'll call us if anything happens."

"We'll probably end up getting a visit from Tess herself," I say. "Probably nothing to worry about."

"You're okay with just doing nothing while the cops loaf eating donuts?" Britt growls.

True lifts her head and sighs. "They're not lazy, they're busy. And I trust them."

Britt opens her mouth, as if she's about to say something—but she stops when she sees me sparking, and instead mutters something low under her breath as she turns away from us to claim the plush chair in the corner.

Mid-afternoon sunlight streams through the opened windows. Staying on the first floor means an easy jump to the small garden outside, where several Pokémon are moving slowly through freshly-mowed grass. One Ponyta lifts her head and neighs a greeting, which Jackson returns. I turn to the clock—five—and then to True, who's staring out the window pensively.

"I wonder if we would've been out of here by now if we hadn't stayed at Tess's," True sighs.

I can't tell the future. I don't know. So I rest against her stomach and sigh, too. "I don't know. Maybe we would've been training."

"Remind me to make a call to the gym tomorrow?" she asks.

"I'll remind you," Minka says as she shuffles to the side of the bed. "Speaking of which, have you decided who you're going to use?"

"All I know is that it's a grass-type gym," True says.

"I can take care of them," Jackson says matter-of-fact. He turns away from the opened window to pump his clawed fists into the air.

True smiles, and scoots to the edge of the bed. "A whole gym?"

"A _whole_ gym," Jackson says.

The phone rings unexpectedly, a shrill noise that sucks the hesitantly-hopeful feeling out of the room. True takes the phone with a shaking hand, and leans into it. I turn to look up at Wilkes, who's hovering in the dark corner. He's pushing his hands together, eyes narrowed. "The hell are you doing?" I chuckle.

"I'm not used to having so much of me being so solid," he admits. "I need to get used to having hands."

It takes a few moments to process his answer. My mouth is still hanging open as I respond, "You'll... uh, you'll get used to it."

"I've spent so long as a Gastly," he continues, as though I haven't spoken. "I'm not complaining, of course, it's just... different, is all."

"That's great," True says, "thank you so much." One push of a button and she's off the phone and looking at us with a smile. "Clara's going to spend the night in recovery, but her wing's fixed and she'll be out tomorrow."

Jackson's eyes are bright as he smiles, wide enough to show off every one of his sharp teeth. "Does that mean she'll fight in the gym too?"

"If she wants to," True says. "Anyone who wants to fight—"

"Me," Britt snaps. "Let me fight."

"—Who isn't at a disadvantage," True finishes with a grimace. "I'm sorry, Britt, but it's a grass-type gym—"

"And I've been in worse fights!"

"You wouldn't last five minutes in that gym," Minka says sternly.

"Grass-types are all pushovers. I bet I could fight _you_."

Leaves rattle. Minka scoffs, "That isn't the issue—"

But Jackson growls and stomps his way toward Britt, pushing his nose in her face. "Listen to them."

Her tail's fluffed up and her ears are shooting straight up. "The fuck did you just say to me?" she asks, her voice deadly quiet.

"You have to be safe," he says slowly. "Clara and I're good fighters. We'll beat them."

Britt jumps off of the chair with a dull _thud_. Even when Jackson is leaning toward the ground, tail thrashing, she's inches shorter. "Just because you have a little fire—"

But Jackson roars and, in one quick movement, pins her to the ground. Britt screeches and Jackson's screaming "You'll stay here, you'll stay!" and Britt's firing off a Water Gun in Jackson's face—

And then Wilkes is there, each hand on the top of both thrashing Pokémon's heads. He murmurs something low under his breath, and then—without any warning—Jackson and Britt are silent. Jackson falls on top of Britt, who doesn't even respond.

"People will think we're murdering someone in here," Wilkes says, as Jackson starts snoring.

True's fingers are deep in my scruff and I can hardly breathe. "Th-That was... what was that?" True asks.

"Hypnosis." Wilkes turns toward us with a stoic expression and a faint purple glow in his eyes. "I think that will keep them for a few hours."

Do I even want to know where he learned to do that? Is that how he had taken down the Rockets—grabbed their heads and put them to sleep, just like that? "You planning on taking over the world sometime soon?"

I don't know if I like Wilkes better when he's stone-faced, or when he's grinning—each razor-sharp tooth is exposed as he laughs, a dark chuckle that sends shivers down my spine. "World domination was never in the books, no."

Good to fucking know.

"Maybe we should go get some food," Minka hesitantly suggests. "There should be a place where we can get some to go."

True's hands are shaking as she nods. "Yeah. Y-Yeah. Good. Um. Wilkes, do you want to—?"

"Stay here? It makes little difference to me," the Haunter says. "Do _you_ wish me to?"

I almost want to yell _yes, for the love of Arceus, make him stay here_ , but True shakes her head. "Just... don't put anyone else to sleep."

"I doubt anyone will cause enough trouble in a Pokémon Center to warrant such action," Wilkes says simply.

Nobody does, of course. I would have expected more people to be here for five in the afternoon, but we only pass a few Trainers getting their Pokémon healed as we head to the cafeteria. We're seated relatively quickly—and I'm guessing it's because of Wilkes hovering over True's head, glowering with his glowing eyes—and served plates of food: dishes of Pokémon food for us, and a fat sandwich for True. She picks apart at it as she talks with Minka about something or other.

I'm not paying attention. My eyes are focused more on the people passing by on the other side of the window: men and women dressed in all sorts of clothing, casual and fancy and everything in between, Pokémon prancing beside their trainers and pets showing off diamond-studded collars. One Persian meets my eye and grins wickedly, flicking its brown-tipped tail before following her heavy-set mistress into a shop dedicated to oversized hats; a petite boy exits just moments after, followed by a grumpy Flareon.

I wonder if I'd even recognize—

"Casey, you okay?"

I jump at the sound of True's voice, and turn to her. Half of her sandwich is gone by now, the other picked to shreds and scattered over her plate. "You look like you're thinking about something," she says.

"Just out of it," I say, turning my back to the window.

"Well, I suggest tonight we try and call to make an appointment for Celadon," Minka says. "I would think they'd alert Mrs. Fargone within the next day or two, and there must be some sort of waiting list."

"I'll call in the morning," True says, and brings a piece of bread and cheese to her mouth. "After we all get some sleep."

A flash of orange catches my attention—it disappears behind a corner, but I can still see shadows and flickering light against the wall. "Would you guys be okay if I head back early?" I ask.

True's oblivious with her back facing the orange flash; she brushes brushes her hand against the top of my head, a gentle touch. "Yeah. I'm going to see if I can't get some supplies at a shop nearby, and visit Clara."

A vine pulls my chin up, and I'm forced to look into Minka's warm red eyes. "Wilkes and I will make sure she's alright. You stayed up very late last night."

I don't know if I'm comfortable with Wilkes being with her, but I'm pretty sure nothing could happen on the crowded streets—

Blue-green eyes and a red nose peek out from the corner. White claws gesture to come back.

"Alright," I say, and jump off the table. "Just be safe, okay?"

"We're going to be just fine!" I hear Minka say, as I pass trainers lounging in couches and nurses flitting between the reception counter and back and turn the corner.

Sharp claws grab me and pull me close to a hot chest, all muscle and rough skin and bone. I yelp with surprise, but a clawed paw covers my mouth.

"You gotta be quiet," Jackson hisses into my ear. "And you have to listen to me—"

"Let go" sounds more like "Leh'ko" when your mouth is covered, but he gets the message. I gulp in air as I'm dropped onto the ground, and whip toward him angrily. "What th'hell's going on—?"

"Just listen!" he hisses, and it's only then that I notice the worry on his face, the anger in his eyes. "I woke up, and there wasn't—"

"Wait, hang on," I say, ears perking up. "Where's—?"

"I don't know," he says, "she was there when he put us to sleep, and now she's not—!"

I'm flying back to the room before he can even finish his sentence, but I hear heavy footsteps follow me. The door's been left slightly ajar, where deep scratches litter the inside of the door. I can hardly hear Jackson's hurried "I couldn't open the door at first!" in the empty room. Curtains dance in the heavy winds, invited by the wide-open windows.

We hadn't closed the windows.

"Britt's gone," Jackson whines.

They could've only been asleep for half an hour, maybe an hour at most. But that's enough time to get where you want to go in a city where downtown is street-marked to oblivion. "Fuck," I hiss. "And she was gone when you woke up?"

"That's what I _said_ —"

"And how long have you been up?"

"Maybe a few minutes?" Jackson says. "I came out for you when I saw she'd gone."

That fucking Wartortle was going to be the death of us. "Okay. Okay, we need to get someone. I'll go get True—"

" _No!_ " Jackson yells, and grabs me again. "She's still thinking about Bird Lady, she's sad."

"Well we need somebody!" I hiss.

"Why do you think I came to get you?" Jackson growls.

Any fight in me is replaced by surprise. I turn to him, brow furrowed. "I thought you hated me."

He turns away and drops me on the floor again. "I do. But Minka's too slow and I don't like Wilkes even _more_. And Clara's hurt. You gotta help me find her, 'cause if the bad guys—if they—"

And surprise turns to mortification when I see his eyes glazing over. First instinct is to touch him, but I stop the second before my paw would have made contact with his leg. "Hey. Hey hey, okay. We'll get her. It's not…" I take a deep breath, and try not to think of bloodstained Nidorina or Rattata torn to shreds. "It's not the boat. We'll get her back."

"But we gotta go now," Jackson says, shaking his head furiously. "Right now."

Even as he's speaking I'm jumping on top of the small desk, looking for paper and pen. Jackson's growling impatiently, but I have to do this. The pen doesn't fit quite right in my paws, and it takes effort, and there are random blotches of ink sprayed across the pad, but I'm finally able to leave the message.

_Britt at casino call cops wait for me and J to come back_

We leave through the open window, and close it, leaving only ruffled curtains and a messy note behind.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Five

I can only thank Arceus that it's summer now, otherwise the search for the casino would be a hell of a lot harder.

We keep to the main streets, following pointed signs and spare bits of conversation between passing pedestrians. Even though the sun is still shining, lights are starting to come on—twinkling lights in the window displays of shops and cafes, neon lights over stores that don't know how to adjust their timers—proving a blinking, brightly-lit pathway through downtown.

We ignore the shocked looks from the out-of-towners as we make our way past buildings and shops and apartment complexes. Those who stare at us for too long are greeted by Jackson's snarl, by the sight of me sparking on his shoulder, which sends most of them back on their way.

I should feel bad, because it isn't their fault one of our teammates is such a hardheaded idiot. I don't, though; I'm focused more on getting us where we need to be as quickly as possible. Jackson is of a similar mindset—he moves frantically, pausing only when I pull on his horn to read the next set of street signs. Fixed on top of the signs with street names are arrows pointing to popular attractions in Celadon: the theater on Victree Way, Kanto University along Moltres Place.

In the far-distant future, when I'm alive and don't have to deal with idiotic team members, I have to remember to thank the Professor for giving me the impromptu reading lessons.

Celadon's Casino and Game Corner points down along Freesia Street. We follow it down, passing bakeries and tiny clothing boutiques and little art studios. Polished glass works sparkle in the display windows, arching figures and shapes gleaming every color of the rainbow. Women in duos and trios pass from shop to shop, holding handbags in the crooks of their arms, while perfectly behaved Meowth and Pidgey trot beside them.

"You spend more time with Britt than any of us," I say, when we turn off of Freesia and on to Cinnabar Boulevard. "What's she like to you?"

"That doesn't matter," he says irritably. "Are we still going the right way?"

I know a lost cause when I see it, and let the issue drop for now.

He's panting heavily and his legs are shaking—I don't know if he's ever ran this far this quickly before. I jump off and walk beside him, notably slower than usual. "We're going the right way," I say.

He nods, and continues walking.

"We can stop, you know, if you need to rest," I say.

But he shakes his head with a growl. "No. Not until she's okay."

There are so many prompts in those short sentences that I have to force myself to keep walking, instead of stare at him, analyze him. But I don't. I follow him, instead, stopping us only when we hit another patch of street signs.

"Just another mile or so," I read off the bright gold sign, and turn to him. "Can you make it that far?"

"I'll make it," he pants. "Gotta… gotta—"

"C'mere," I say, and pull him next to the base. Purple-blue flowers tickle us as I force him to sit down. "You're not gonna get anywhere unless you catch your breath."

And oh, Arceus, I can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to keep going. But he sits on the warm pavement nevertheless, breathing hard.

"Try and keep your breathing steady."

It's his turn now to look at me as though I've grown a second head. But after a tense moment of silence, he nods. Wisps of flame and smoke seep out with each exhale, and I have to fight to keep myself rooted to the ground. I turn away and grab at blades of grass.

We stay there on the ground for a few moments. The only sounds we exchange are us each catching our breath. I'm starting to get used to silence when Jackson, steady and clear, asks, "She's gonna be okay, right?" 

"She's a tough Wartortle," I say, pulling bits of grass out of the ground. "She'll be—"

"That's what we said about Kerri."

I grip the ground.

He opens his mouth to speak, but shakes his head. "No. We gotta keep moving. Can you run again?"

I don't know if I really have a choice—he's already standing, the flame on his tail a bright yellow-white. "If you can't, I can carry you. I'm strong now."

_Now_ , rather than the tiny Charmander who'd been forced to watch his friends and mentor die at the hands of a kid drunk on the power a gun and his Pokémon could give him from _then_.

"No," I say, and stand up as blades of grass fall out of my lap and onto the ground. "No, I can… I can run."

His eyes are glassy but he nods, too—and I swear I can see the corners of his mouth tilt up. Just slight. It disappears almost immediately after I notice it. He doesn't give me any chance to respond, because he's back up and running before I can do anything else. I follow him on foot the last few miles, pausing only to read the street signs and look at the directories on major crossroads.

Seeing as we'd actually lived in Tess Fargone's home, we probably shouldn't have been surprised to see the Celadon Casino and Game Corner. The wide property has been meticulously groomed: every bush is the shape of a popular Pokémon, every rose beautifully in bloom. We follow people and Pokémon alike down a carefully-constructed cobblestone path, separate from the drive-in road that leads to a parking lot.

But halfway down, Jackson's head snaps to attention. I look to see both nostrils flare before they hit the ground. "Uh. What're you doing?"

"I think I smell her," Jackson says, and takes off in another direction, across a perfectly manicured--and fake--lawn. I ignore the looks we get from the others and chase after him.

I don't know what it says about Britt that her scent trail would lead to the dumpsters—but sure enough I start to pick up on it as well, and fall step-for-step in line with Jackson. Each metal container has been marked with the same logo, claiming them for the Celadon Casino and Game Corner. I'm too distracted by the strong scent of leftovers to be of much help in the tracking, but as we move I do notice one thing: no one seems to be here except for us.

"Just lay low," I tell Jackson softly. He nods. We sneak past by crouching low to the ground, trying to not make a sound.

Rustling in a dumpster above our heads alerts both of us. Jackson's too short to look over the lid, but too tall to make a jump without scraping the sides of the dumpster. He looks at me for one moment, and the next he has me in his paws—I hardly have the time to protest before I'm sailing into the air, and land in a pile of garbage bags with a soft _thud_.

I don't expect to see a skin-and-bones Meowth and well-groomed Eevee snoozing on a visibly surprised, very familiar Wartortle.

"I don't remember hearing about Pikachu falling out of nowhere," Britt snarks.

No scratches, no bruises, no nothing but a really awful smell and a few pieces of food peel in her feathered ears. There are a million questions I could probably ask her, but the first one that comes out of my mouth is this one: "Wh—what're you doing in a dumpster?"

"What're _you_ doing in a dumpster?" she counters.

Fair point.

"Is that Britt?" Jackson hisses.

I lean over the lip of the dumpster. "Shhhhh. Yeah, I found her. She's alright."

"Wait—you brought Jackson with you?" Britt growls. "And where the hell is True? I thought you two were glued at the hip."

"I figured she'd rest easier knowing that I was coming to get you before you did anything _stupid_ ," I hiss. "What the hell—"

"Stupid? What would—wait." She stops and sneers. "What did you _think_ I was doing?"

"It doesn't matter," I say hurriedly. "We have to get back to the Center before True and Minka get back to the room—"

"Nuh uh," she says. "You think I'd just go off and save the castle? I have a better sense of preservation than that."

She was still in the dumpsters of the Casino. I don't buy it. "Then just what—"

The Eevee who had been using her tail as a pillow blinks sleepy wide eyes at us. "W'z goin' on, miss?" The question disturbs the Meowth, who is slower to open her eyes but quicker to snuggle closer into Britt's unyielding belly.

"Just my... some 'mons I know," Britt says, as she looks down on them. "They've come to get me."

It's the wrong thing to say—the Meowth whines, clinging onto Britt's shell with broken claws, as the Eevee whines. "Y' _can't_ , y'said you'd get us out!"

"You didn't," I say.

"I _didn't_ ," Britt growls. "I got them a meal and a safe place to hide for the night."

"Like a dumpster's a safe place to keep a pair of kids," I deadpan.

"It's better than in there!" the Eevee says, pointing toward the glowing casino door.

Britt's eyes are narrowed when I look back at her. "Look, I just found them, okay? They were being chased by some goons in suits. I hid them, found them a meal and a place to stay for the night. Half-full dumpster is as good a place to recover for a bit than any hidey-hole around here."

She talks like she knows what she's talking about.

I sigh and shake my head. "That's great, but... They need medical attention. A _real_ place to stay."

"Centers only give Pokémon care if they've been caught by trainers," Britt growls. "Besides, these kids want to be wild. I'm not forcing them to go up to the closest human just for shits."

The Meowth looks at me with gleaming red eyes, seemingly unaware of the fact that each rib bone is clearly visible underneath her patchy pelt. I turn to the Eevee, who looks almost fat compared to his stick-thin companion. "You'd rather live out here, trying to get caught?" I say gently.

He meets my eyes with a scornful expression and pale gray eyes. "I wanna choose my own trainer," the Eevee says. "Not just get forced one."

He's a fighter, for sure. But I don't know how much good that will do if he ends up being caught.

Jackson's growling pulls me out of my head. I look over the dumpster again to see that the smoking employees from the far side have gone—but in their place stands a stocky Electabuzz. He approaches us calmly, a red vest hanging limp on his bulky body.

"Stay away!" Jackson hisses, as flame flickers in his mouth.

I briefly hear Britt shoving the Eevee and Meowth underneath trash bags as I jump back down to the ground. Pavement scrapes the bottoms of my paws, but I only wince as I look up at the Electabuzz.

"You guys need some help or something?" the Electabuzz asks. "Thought I heard voices."

"No," I say curtly. "No voices."

"Ahhhhh, cut the crap, Casey," Britt scowls from the top of the dumpster. She teeters dangerously over the edge before falling down, landing hard on her side. "Y'know... y'should've just left me."

I look at her at disgust as Jackson races to her, pulling her up back onto her feet. His tailflame is glowing red-hot as he eyes the approaching Electabuzz. Lamps suddenly flare to life, throwing the Electabuzz into the light. His red eyes look to Britt and Jackson before settling on me.

"We've got something for hangovers in the back, you know," he says. Thick fingers adjust the gleaming gold pin on his vest. "You can follow me in and we can go grab a remedy right now."

I eye Britt with surprise—if I wasn't paying such close attention to her face, I don't think I would have seen her half-wink, the flash of a meaningful look in her eye.

"Ah, no," I say. "No, that's, uh... that's okay. We really need to get her back to her trainer, though."

The red-vested Pokémon looks up at the dumpster and sighs. "Just say you didn't throw up in there."

"Sooooo much," Britt slurs with a giggle. "Surprised you didn't hear me. Your fancy fish dishes don't taste nearly as good comin' up as they do goin' down, you know."

Jackson does a double take, but I shake my head at him. He blinks once before nodding. "That's right. I guess that's why I'm not sick. Because. I didn't eat it."

He would do horribly as an actor.

"Uh-huh," the Electabuzz says, clearly unconvinced. "Might as well clean it up now before it starts stinkin' to high heavens. We don't need to attract any Grimer—"

Suddenly Britt bangs her fist against the dumpster. Two dark shapes jump out of the muck, panting but otherwise silent as they melt into the shadows. The Electabuzz opens his mouth to say something, and sighs. "I don't have the time to chase you down. Get out of here before someone who _does_ finds you and your friends."

Britt pushes herself back up, all pretense at drunkenness gone. The middle claw on each paw flares up as she backs up, glaring at the Electabuzz all the while. Jackson turns, but keeps his head turned behind him. I stay there for a moment, staring at the Electabuzz who watches us for a few moments. It's only when we pass the next few dumpsters that he finally turns with a sigh, scratching the base of one antennae-like ear.

Britt and Jackson are already sizing each other up by the time I reach them.

"So you couldn't just think that I'd be fine?" Britt hisses. "You had to send a search party out?"

"You left without telling anybody!" Jackson growls.

"He's right," I scowl. "You don't get to just take off whenever you like. This is a family, and—"

"Not to me." Britt curls her lips up in a scowl and turns away from us. "You can play family all you want, but I'm still my own 'mon. I'll go wherever I like."

Fire ignites in Jackson's mouth; he opens it wide and lets loose a small stream of flame, arching over her head. The glow catches the gold of Britt's eyes; save for a slight bristling of her tail, she doesn't look intimidated at all. "Thought we talked about you showing off," she mutters.

I grab onto Jackson's paw before he can lunge. Wisps of smoke escape from the gaps in his exposed teeth as he turns to me. I have to close my eyes and take a breath before saying anything. "She's safe. Okay? She's safe. I'm not happy with her either, but we have to get back."

The Charmeleon shakes his head with a huff, but nods. "For True."

"For True," I repeat, as far away a bell rings the hour. I count them: One, two, three, four, five, six.

"Think those kids will be okay?" I ask.

Britt sighs as the seventh ring echoes across the city. "The Meowth's tough, she'll help the Eevee. If they're smart, they'll be fine."

I close my eyes and whisper a prayer to Arceus.

It's as the eighth bell is ringing, an hour later, that we near the main street. We don't speak to each other much--if we say anything, it's to comment on the dolled up passerby or a particularly ugly patch of thistles growing among the flowers. Even though the sky is still a light shade of blue, I'm antsy about going down side roads after seeing the Meowth and Eevee, and seeing the Casino. If I were an organization who wanted to make a profit on selling Pokémon, I would start by grabbing strays off the street.

The safest place for them would be with trainers. With humans who could provide a soft bed and a warm place to sleep.

Between Jackson's crackling tailflame and the stony glares Britt throws to any passerby, we go relatively unchallenged. Most of the lights in the shop displays and neon signs have been turned on; they're brighter in the ever-darkening night, glowing in attention-grabbing colors. Music spills out of opening doors as patrons flit from shop to shop, some carrying massive bags in their arms.

"Do the idiots here do nothing but shop?" Britt scoffs.

"It's the shopping capital of Kanto," I say, as I nearly avoid the lumbering steps of a man heavily laden with bulky packages. "I'd be surprised if there weren't people walking around with bags."

Britt and I have to work together to keep Jackson from poking into the bakeries we pass. My mouth waters at the smell of oven-baked bread and other bakery treats; Britt's mouth waters at the slabs of meat being grilled to perfection in the summer heat. It would be paradise compared to the Center's lackluster selections. "We need to go there when everything's said and done," I say mostly to myself. Britt and Jackson hum their ascent.

I have to scamper back onto Jackson's shoulders to see the red-painted roof of the Pokémon Center. The lights are just starting to flicker on, illuminating the roof in bright pink-red light.

"...We've received several reports..."

It takes me a moment to place where the voice is coming from, and by then Jackson and Britt are rushing toward the Center. It's only when we come closer that I notice that the usual crowd of people populating the sidewalks has stilled, creating a roadblock.

"...and I can confirm that there are Rockets in the city."

A surge of raised voices, wails. I jump off of Jackson to bolt to the Center doors, but they've been blocked by a portable stage. A Growlithe and a uniformed woman stand near the edge. The woman, leanly-built with a shock of bright-green hair, speaks from a microphone. "We have the entire city on watch..."

But my attention isn't on her anymore. I'm only just aware of Jackson and Britt following me as I duck to the left of the building, looking for an entrance of some kind. We reach a training field first, a sandy open expanse outlined in chalk. The door to the Center is guarded by a stern-looking Chansey, whose ears lift in surprise.

"You really can't be back here right now—"

"Our trainer's in there," Jackson says, "and we really—"

"Casey!"

True looks shaken with a small bag hanging from the crook of her elbow, and her hand is held tight on Minka's vine. But she's safe and she's alive and I nearly miss the feel of sand against my paws as I jump into her chest. She grabs me with her free hand and squeezes. "I thought you'd been taking a nap. Are you okay?"

I look down at Minka, who shakes her head.

"Just needed some air," I say smoothly. Jackson and Britt, uh, followed me to make sure I was alright."

"Sorry we snuck out," Jackson says.

"Did some training," Britt adds.

True nods and smiles, then turns to the Chansey. She pulls an ID card out of her pocket and hands it to the plump Pokémon. "I'm staying in the Center right now...?"

"Just go straight to your room," the Chansey replies curtly, and moves aside for us to come in.

We have to pass the lobby to get to the residency wing. It's absolutely vacated. Most of the windows have been shielded by wall-length blinds, blocking the inside from the hundreds of prying eyes inside. I can still hear the officer's booming voice and the passionate cries of the assembled crowd. True's grip tightens on me as she passes the desk—

And suddenly Gary comes into view, rubbing his sandy-red hair with a white towel.

"Thought nobody was supposed to be in here," he says, eyeing True with surprise. "How'd you get past the mob?"

"We're staying here," True says, flashing the ID card still tucked between her fingers.

"Oh." His dark eyes focus on mine for a moment, but he shrugs. "Ah well."

"You the reason there's a mob out there?" Britt asks, resting her paws on the lip of her shell.

Gary smirks. "Maybe. Sort of thing happens when you sneak in to a Rocket Hideout."

True's sharp intake of breath grounds me. "What kind of idiot—"

"Not my fault they have such lax security," he says as he rests on the counter. His chest muscles flex underneath his shirt—two sizes too small, I would bet anything—as he calls for one of the Chanseys to bring out five Pokéballs. "We were able to get pretty far in, too. Saved some Pokémon. All in a day's work for Gary Oak."

The nurse, a flustered-looking blonde woman, hands him the tray of Pokéballs. "They'll want to keep you here for a day or two, Mr. Oak, until the crowds settle down. That should be enough time for your team to heal."

"Fine by me," he says. He plucks each Pokéball onto the long beaded necklace, already heavy with one red-and-white sphere, and winks, flashing a charming smile. The woman, swear to Arceus, looks as though she's about to melt.

"New recruit?" Minka asks sharply.

"Doesn't matter." Once the five balls have been placed on his necklace, he turns back to True. "Hopefully we won't be seeing much of each other. Though I guess if you wanted to get some training in—"

"The nurse just said your team needed to heal," Minka hisses.

"The ones she gave back," he snarks. He taps the first Pokéball on his necklace. From the red light I see webbed ears, a finned tail, a ruff of webbing. Dappled blue skin gleams underneath the fluorescent lights as she shakes her head. She looks to Gary, at first, and then to the ceiling, and then to True, before her honey-brown eyes find mine.

I hear Minka's soft gasp and Jackson's quiet growl and Britt's scoff and True's muttered "oh, Mew," but I only pay attention to the Vaporeon's slight smile and soft sigh.

"Hey," she says, almost shyly.

I try to picture the Eevee I had just seen, and the Eevee I _had_ known, and place them against this new Pokémon I've never met. I can't.

"She's not a grass-type," Gary says, "but she'll be able to help you train. Right, Cass?"

The Vaporeon looks up, and after a long moment she sighs. "Yes. After a day of rest."

I'm hyper-aware of True's thumb stroking the side of my arm, and try my best not to cry.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Six

You don't forget what a person looked like after having seen them the way they were, almost every day, for five years.  
  
Even though Al had been a Raichu for most of his life, I can still remember him as a Pikachu: he'd far more muscular than me, and far more mischievous. I can still remember watching the light fade after he'd accepted Chris's Thunder Stone, and seeing the new him for the first time--the curve of his ears and the whip of his tail, his darker coloration, had all been foreign to me. It had taken a long talk to teach a much tinier me that my brother was still the same guy, just in a new body—even if he was more physical, more reckless in battle. Different enough in the ways that really counted to make me nervous of him, for him.  
  
I think of this now, three days after first seeing her, as I watch Cassidy duck and weave around Clara's sword-like beak.  
  
<<There's no need for you to worry about her.>>  
  
I jerk up at the sudden voice in my head, and look up at the Kadabra who's sitting on the other side of the garden bench. She's stroking her long whiskers with a clawed hand, her bushy tail wrapped around her anemic legs. Dark-purple eyes are fixated on Cassidy, but both pointed ears have turned in my direction. "For which one?" I mutter, as I glance away.  
  
They say that some psychic-types are able to read into the thoughts of others, can carry secret conversations. I don't know Kadabra well enough to know if that's one of their innate abilities, and I hardly know this Kadabra—  
  
<<My name is Michaela.>>  
  
Michaela. Wait—  
  
<<Before you have the chance to ask, no. You aren't going crazy.>>  
  
The tip of her tail is twitching in her lap, where both clawed paws are resting. I narrow my eyes. "You need to stop doing that."  
  
Through her bushy whiskers, I can see her smile. <<Doing what?>>  
  
"Getting into my head like you own it."  
  
<<It's a common means of communication for my species. You will get used to it.>>  
  
I don't like the promise in those words.  
  
From the corner of my eye I see Clara smack Cassidy's face with her broad wing—I watch as the Vaporeon rolls against the ground, kicking up dust. She's only down for a moment before she jumps back up; the ear-like frills on her head pull forward as she crouches, baring tiny fangs.  
  
<<Don't fear for her. She isn't as weak as you think.>>  
  
"I know she's not," I growl.  
  
<<You care for her?>>  
  
My cheeks heat up. "She's... a friend," I say.  
  
Who knows how far Kadabra—Michaela—can go into my head—  
  
<<No farther than you allow.>>  
  
But I don't know how far that is. I turn back toward Cassidy, who's striking the dirt with her hind legs. Clara blocks the oncoming spray by hiding her head underneath her wing. She looks up only when the sound of nails scratching dirt subsides, and caws loudly.  
  
<<You doubt her resilience.>>  
  
Count to ten. One, two, three. I concentrate on the rippling of Cassidy's muscles underneath her thin fur as she jumps up to avoid a strike from Clara's wing—but she's too slow, and lands on the ground less gracefully than before. Vaporeon are built to withstand hits, to adapt. If I had wanted her to change into anything—  
  
<<That was her decision.>>  
  
That's enough to spark me into actual conversation again. "What do you—?"  
  
<<She made the decision to leave on her own.>> Michaela leans forward, slipping one leg above the other, and turns her full attention to me. <<She made the decision to evolve on her own. Much as you might have reason to demonize our Trainer, he is not at fault here.>>  
  
"You're not going to take out Erika with a few jabs," Gary mocks. It draws my and Michaela's head up in interest—for the most part, True and Gary had been silent, allowing Clara and Cassidy to spar. "You have a bird. Let her fly."  
  
Wind tickles my face as Clara's enormous wings open. She beats them once, kicking up sand that flies up into the sunlight. Behind her, True narrows her eyes and nods. "Fine. Go up, Clara!"  
  
But it immediately becomes clear that the arena is too small for Clara to really use the space. One pump of her wings is enough to propel herself high above our heads. Every eye is drawn to the intimidating Fearow, who screeches and slashes her talons at empty air.  
  
Cassidy crouches low to the ground, her finned tail thrashing behind her. Gary holds a hand to cover his eyes, and then confidently commands, "Use Water Gun!"  
  
I had only seen Cassidy battle a few times before: mostly against Starter Pokemon who were too impatient to wait for their trainers, who needed to get the itch out of their blood as soon as possible. She fought with her head, almost literally—she tackled and danced her way out of danger, a heavy hitter who could make a quick getaway.  
  
There's a bit of that now as she coils to the ground, as she jumps up. I only faintly hear True giving a command to Clara—my eyes are focused on her broad muzzle as it opens to release a jet of water, which strikes Clara's head. The Fearow only shrieks, shaking her head and sending drops of water down to sprinkle the ground.  
  
Cassidy lands with a thud and a smile, and immediately crouches to the ground again.  
  
True's hands curl into fists as she grits her teeth. "Hold your ground, Clara."  
  
"Pin it down with a Quick Attack!" Gary commands.  
  
And Cassidy is back in the air again, a streak of off-blue light—  
  
With a grin, True shouts, "NOW!"  
  
—And just as quickly, Clara pumps her wings and grabs Cassidy with her clawed feet. One foot holds her tail secure—the other holds both forelimbs in a tight grip. Cassidy thrashes in the grip and fires another Water Gun directly in Clara's face, but she shakes the drops out of her eyes and shrieks defiantly.  
  
Gary's eyes have widened slightly, but he's still standing firm. True is the one most visibly excited as she cries, "Toss her to the ground!"  
  
My paws curl into fists, and I stop breathing.  
  
It's a heartbeat between them being airborne and them on solid ground again, but it's long enough for my heart to feel like it's about to explode. Clara doesn't let go of the Vaporeon until they're only a foot away from the ground, and then slams her into the dust. I have to wait for it to settle to see Clara proudly perched on top of Cassidy, who's still struggling to get out of Clara's grip.  
  
<<She is young. Still getting used to her new body.>> Michaela's watching the scene with a soft grin. <<But the time will come when she is fluid, like water.>>  
  
"Water Gun," Gary says coolly, "one more time."  
  
Clara can't move fast enough to avoid the sudden spray. Foaming water hits her square in the face, even lifts her the slightest bit off the ground. That's enough room for Cassidy to squeeze out from underneath the Fearow, and smack her again with a lash of her tail. Clara's head hits the ground and the rest of her follows suit, throwing up another cloud of dust. When it settles, both battlers are crouched low to the ground, panting hard and staring at each other.  
  
I'd seen Cassidy's expression on my brother's face, the same wide pupils and half-grin. I taste bile.  
  
"I'm calling it quits here, Gary," True calls, and suddenly I can breathe again.  
  
Beside her, Jackson turns toward me with something that might resemble a smile. I return a faint ghost of it and turn away.  
  
Gary nods, folding his arms over his head with a confident smirk. "Scared your bird is going to lose?"  
  
"She's still recovering," True says shortly, as she steps onto the battlefield. "And I don't want to hurt Cassidy either."  
  
Gary waves his hand, as if to brush the words away.  
  
<<The both of them did well.>> Michaela slides off of the bench and half-walks, half-hovers toward Cassidy. The Vaporeon greets her teammate with a whispered word and a butt to the head.  
  
True leans down toward Clara, a bright orange bottle already held in her hands. She's spraying down Clara's wing's and head as she speaks. "Maybe in a few days we'll be ready for the gym."  
  
"You'll need more than your bird if you want to win a badge," I hear Gary say.  
  
But my eyes are only for the Vaporeon, who has pushed herself off of the ground with a contented look on her face. She shakes her body out before eying me with a smile. I turn away and hop back onto the ground and start toward the Center. I'm still feeling exhausted from the impromptu "rescue mission" Jackson had taken me on—  
  
<<I wouldn't—>>  
  
Get away from invasive Kadabra, Minka's in there resting, she'd be quiet while I took a nap, took a bath, cleared—  
  
"Casey?"  
  
I don't stop at first. She has to come up next to me, padding on tiny feet, for me to come to a half next to a flowering fern. Her breath tickles the side of my cheek; it's warm and only half-familiar, laced with an icy coolness that doesn't match up to the tiny, fuzzy Eevee I still have in my head. I look up to see Cassidy staring at me with the same honey-brown eyes, the same tiny tilt to her head. A keycard, identical to True's, is held in her mouth. "Can we just… can we talk?"  
  
True's eying me when I turn to look at her. She smiles and nods her head. "We'll be okay here."  
  
Michaela looks up at me with her dark eyes, and blinks. <<You have not lost her.>>  
  
So I turn back to Cassidy, who's still staring at me, and nod. "Fine. Okay."  
  
I hear her sigh before she nods, gesturing me to follow.  
  
We aren't allowed to go outside of the Center, not with Gary being Gary Oak and the "Thwarter of Team Rocket" and with True still waiting for word on her grandmother. If Gary's team isn't healing, though, they're battling, which leaves his room available for us to slip away. We face the door in silence for a few moments before Cass turns to me with an awkward smile. "I never could get those doors open."  
  
The fin on the top of her head makes standing there impossible, not without an awkwardness that threatens to dissolve this meeting before it's even really begun. But I can straddle her shoulders, if I'm careful to avoid her frilled collar. Her fur is slick with sweat (I think) and I nearly fall off once or twice; but after some adjusting and a bit of luck I'm able to fit the card in the slot. It beeps contentedly, and the tiny sensor flashes a deep green. It only takes a touch from me to open the door.   
  
Barring an increase in haphazardly-thrown clothes on the chairs and the odd smell of  _boy_ , the room is almost identical to True's: same blankets, same general layout, same TV flickering on in the background. The only noticeable difference I can see is a larger tub and several towels left on the floor. "For my skin," Cassidy says dismissively, before turning to the bed.  
  
She'd liked dust baths, before. She'd fallen into the river in Pallet and had come out looking like a drowned Meowth, her long fur weighing her down. It had taken me a while to stop laughing whenever I looked at her.  
  
She's already settled on the bed when I jump up to meet her. I have to wade my way through messed blankets and a pair of dirty boxer shorts to meet her face to face. We stare at each other for a long moment. I haven't changed the way she has—no dramatic evolutions, no wonder diet that shaves off a few pounds and rebuilds my physique, no nothing. But she's staring at me as though I've changed, and I'm staring at her because she  _has_ , not even before my eyes but away from them.  
  
I take a deep breath. "So—"  
  
"He didn't force me."  
  
When I look up with a start, she smiles. "You know. To evolve."  
  
Someone has left the window in this open. I can hear Gary's sharp voice and True's steady command. I think I hear fire strike the sandy field.  
  
"You wanted this?" I ask, still keeping my eyes toward the heavy curtains.  
  
The weight shifts on the bed as Cassidy shifts closer to me. "I don't know what I really wanted. But I got to choose. That's more than a lot of Eevee can say."  
  
"But if you don't… what if you wish you hadn't made that choice?"  
  
She draws her head up and sighs. "Then I live with the consequences. But," she says, "I like it now. I'm still getting used to it though."  
  
I'm going to lose her if I keep this up. I grip the blankets and breathe once, twice, before turning to her. "It looks good on you. You look…"  
  
Healthy. Radiant. Confident. Content. Other words I can't think, never mind begin to say.  
  
"I'm just tryin' to catch up is all," I admit, laughing shyly.  
  
She lowers her body into the blankets, and presses her muzzle against my arm. "You can touch, you know. Only if you want," she says immediately, as my ears prick up in alarm. She starts to pull away. "I mean, it was probably just—"  
  
But I raise my paw to touch the bridge of her nose. She feels slick, and there's nothing really to grab on to, the way I could grab at the long locks of her Eevee fur. This new fur is thin and short; it clings to her, showing off lean muscle. Up close I can see talon marks from where Clara had grabbed her, and a few other scars. When my paw hovers over a long pink scar just underneath her chin, she says, "Bad attack from a Raticate."  
  
My throat goes dry. I have to swallow to speak. "From the Hideout?"  
  
She nods.  
  
"What even—?"  
  
"Was he thinking? I don't know," Cassidy admits shyly. "We're alive, though. That's what matters."  
  
She doesn't go into any further detail, and if I'm being honest with myself I don't really want to know. But she lets me touch her, doesn't flinch away from any more of my roaming touches. I tease the thin material of her collar between my tiny fingers—only for a moment, though, when she winces and I learn. She leans into touches when I handle her cheeks, though. It's through tiny moments like these that I start to learn her again. She rests a paw against my side, brushing and teasing my fur. It feels like electricity.  
  
"Just one more question?" I ask.  
  
She opens her eyes and nods.  
  
"How's it feel to not have so much fur?"  
  
Just like that the smile's back on her face, and she's laughing again, bending her chin down into her collar to hide the scar. "It's  _wonderful_. I used to get so hot underneath all that fur, and now I don't even get cold much anymore, not really. And when I get wet, I don't have to spend hours drying myself off…"  
  
And she goes on like that for a while, and I listen. Evolution has changed her, absolutely—I'm still having trouble processing the fact that she has  _gills_  (she shows me them, right underneath her collar, flaps of skin hidden by thicker fur) and her cooler body temperature and breathing underwater for the first time.  
  
But there's still that musical lift to her voice, even if it's a bit different than before, and that smile is always there, and she looks at me with those warm bright eyes, and for one brief, hesitant moment I wonder just what it was I had been so afraid of.  
  
Finally we fall into a moment of silence, and that's when I notice that I don't hear Gary's voice from the open window. "Think we should go check on them?" I ask.  
  
"Too bored with me rattling on?" she replies, but she's standing on the bed, preparing to jump down.  
  
"A little out of my league," I admit, but she laughs anyway.  
  
We head toward the training grounds. The Center has opened their doors again to the general public, which means the large lobby is full once again. Several heads turn as Cassidy and I make our way into the large room—most attention goes to Cassidy, and even from here I can hear their excited whispers, see the admiring gleam in their eyes. A little boy tucked into his mother's arms waves chubby hands in our direction, a brilliant smile on his face. It's matched by the both of ours: I wave my paw at him and she waves her finned tail, and even from across the room we can hear his delighted giggles.  
  
It makes me miss the kids in Pallet. But we have much older kids to look after now, Cassidy and I. We find them seated near the video phones, recognizable by posture, the tumble of red hair down her back and the gelled swish of hair at the nape of his neck. Each of them have taken one of the private booths, and have left two stalls of space between them. Michaela stands next to Gary, rubbing her forearm; beside True, Jackson lifts his head and nods a hello.  
  
<<You seem content.>>  
  
"We talked things out," Cassidy says behind me, and I look over in alarm. I'm about to say something before I catch the amused gleam in her honey-brown eyes, and stop myself. She's noticed though, judging by her small laugh. "She does that sometimes. Don't worry."  
  
Well, I will  _now_.  
  
Two booths still isn't that much space, so I'm able to see both of them. True's free hand scratches the ridges above Jackson's eyes, while Gary keeps both hands on the small bits of free space on the counter. He holds the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.  
  
"Insane," Gary says, "and if you think..."  
  
"I don't know," True sighs, "I don't... she should be okay, shouldn't she?"  
  
"No, everyone's fine. You'll never guess what I did..."  
  
"Gary, and—no, Mom, he's been  _fine_..."  
  
"I can't talk about it now, but we should be heading off soon..."  
  
"I scheduled the match, it's in a few... no, you don't have to come..."  
  
"Yeah. Anyway. I'll catch you later, Daise."  
  
"Love you too, Mom."  
  
Both of them end with a tense "Bye" and hang up their phones. Cassidy and I meet eyes as both of them stand up and away from the booths. True smiles when she sees me, and I grin. "Everything okay?" she asks.  
  
"Better," I say, and am relieved to hear the truth in the word.  
  
"Think we'll only be in town another day or so," Gary says, ruffling up the back of his hair. "Should be getting the go-ahead to get out of Celadon."  
  
True blinks. "And if you don't?"  
  
He shrugs. "They know how to find me. 'Sides, I've got Michaela," he says, and gestures to the Kadabra with a wink. "Right now I'm just here 'for my own protection,' but if I was able to—"  
  
"Miss Fargone?"  
  
All of us flinch at the low voice, and turn to the willowy man and the Abra floating beside him. I inch closer to True as she says, "That's, um, that's me."  
  
A shaking hand holds out a shining badge and a folded piece of paper. "I'm Agent Billion, and I'm here with a, um, with a message." His dark curls bounce as he hands the tiny slip to True. "Everything is, is taken care of. So."  
  
It's almost like seeing Peter in a human form, and I have to fight the urge to laugh. I hear Jackson's sharp intake of breath and fumble to pat his thigh.  
  
True unfolds the paper and smiles. "Thank you," she says, and tucks the paper into her jeans pocket. "That really... that helps. Thanks."  
  
The Abra stares at me for a moment and nods. <<Welcome. We go back now.>>  
  
"Yes, ah, we go... back. We, ah... thank you," the man says, and bows his head to both True and Gary. "And you, Mister Oak," he says, and hands Gary an identical piece of paper.  
  
"Free to—wait," Gary says, "what? Hang on—"  
  
But Agent Billion and his Abra are already walking back to the busy main street.  
  
"The hell was that all about?" Gary asks, furrowing his brow as he opens the slip.  
  
"What he said," True says, and smiles.  
  
Gary smirks and laughs, crumpling up the tiny slip in his hands. "Got the okay to get the hell out of dodge."  
  
True narrows her eyes. "That means you'll be leaving soon?"  
  
"The others still need rest," Cassidy says, looking up to Gary. "It would do us good to stay in town another day, like you said."  
  
Gary tilts his head to the side and smiles. "Could always chase a few girls around, I guess. You going to stay here with your—?"  
  
Before I can make out any meaning in that comment, Michaela holds up a clawed hand. <<Perhaps we should go back to that TM store. I believe they were supposed to have a few sales today.>> She blinks once in my direction before extending a hand. <<And there are still several dining places I'd like to try.>>  
  
I'm expecting him to say something stupid, like "no," but to my surprise he nods. "Alright. Cass, you coming along?"  
  
I meet eyes with her for a brief moment, and nod. "Maybe we'll join you later tonight. Celebrate our freedom."  
  
I doubt Cassidy smile could be any wider. "Sounds wonderful."  
  
"It sounds good to me," True says. I feel her hands grab my sides and smile as I'm brought up to her chest. Her grip around me is loose, so I take the opportunity to scuttle onto her shoulder. "Is there anywhere we should meet...?"  
  
"Maybe we'll meet up after your gym battle," Gary says instead, shoving his hands into his khakis. "For motivation."  
  
True is still for a few seconds, and I feel her breath start to quicken against my cheek. I lean into the cave of her neck, hear her pulse against mine, and am poised to jump back into her arms—  
  
But instead she nods, and I feel her smile. "Only if you pay."  
  
It takes him by surprise, but he smirks and nods. "Fine. Let's go, guys."  
  
Michaela's fingers are already glowing a gentle purple as she grabs Gary's arm. He leans just slightly to grab a hold of Cassidy's shoulder, averting his eyes from us. Cassidy and I stare at each other again—it's the last thing I register before the three of them vanish in a flash of white.  
  
"Did Cassidy tell you what happened in the Hideout?" True asks softly.  
  
I furrow my brow. "No. Did he?"  
  
"No," she says.  
  
"And your slip?" I ask hesitantly.  
  
She leans her cheek against my head and sighs. "She's safe."  
  
We're quiet for a few minutes, absorb the excited chit-chat from the onlookers who are commenting on Gary's sudden disappearance, before she sighs. "Think we should call it a night, guys. Let's see what Minka's up to."  
  
"No more training?" Jackson asks.  
  
"Not today," True says, and smiles. "Tomorrow, though. Just you wait."


	40. Chapter Thirty-Seven

It becomes clear, after Gary blows most of his money on TMs, that there won't be any dinner buying. It doesn't phase True, who just laughs it off. Dinner is traded for a few training sessions in the few days before True's gym battle. Finally, the day of True's gym battle, the two of them decide to share a lunch, instead. "Then we'll be even," True says, and Gary agrees.   
  
They don't speak much, except to exchange a few snippets of conversation: if the sale at the TM shop was still going on, and how good the prices were ("Fine enough. In your price range.")—if the pastry shop on Fourth was as good as the nurse had said ("Better. Cassidy would love their snickerdoodles."). The pauses in conversation are the easiest though, when they're just eating food.  
  
Cassidy and I sit between their feet, silently sharing a plate of food. The scars from her battle with Clara have healed, leaving only tiny pockmarks where talons had met flesh. I bat one of her paws with my own when she steals a slice of apple, and laugh when juice dribbles down her chin.  
  
"It's in a few hours, right?" Gary asks above us. Silverware clanks against a ceramic plate.  
  
True swallows down a bite of food with a swish of water and nods. "As soon as I'm done eating, I'm leaving."  
  
"It'll be easy," Gary says. "Even if I can't join you down there, I—"  
  
"I didn't know you wanted to come."  
  
"I don't. It was just... you know," he scoffs. "In case you were in need of some advice."  
  
Cassidy meets my eyes, her head tilted to the side in a silent question. I shake my head, already inching closer to True.  
  
"Thanks, but I don't," True repeats. "I have Casey."  
  
"Well." He taps his toes against the tiled floor before he stands up. Cassidy has to pull her tail in to avoid being stepped on. "Anyway. You probably won't be able to find me right away, so just… don't suck."  
  
I've already jumped on to the booth seat, and push myself against True's arm. Gary's staring at True with narrowed eyes, even as he tosses his head to get his bangs out of his face. True's twitching fingers find her bangs, freshly trimmed with a pair of bedroom scissors, and muse them so they're not hanging right over her eyes. "I'll try."  
  
Gary nods, and slams a few bills onto the table before shoving his pockets back into his pants. "C'mon, Cass."  
  
Cassidy's smile is warm when she looks from me to True, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You'll do great," she says to True. She meets my eyes and blinks once before bowing her head.  
  
"See you later," I say softly.  
  
I think she would turn to me if she wasn't so intent on following Gary, but I see her nod and flick her tail in greeting as she falls in line with him, their steps synchronized as they leave the dining room and the lobby.  
  
"You don't have any idea what's going on with him?" I ask.  
  
"No," True sighs. "But it doesn't matter. We need to go."  
  
We leave our own money on the table as we leave the Pokémon Center. Early afternoon means busy streets with crowded people, which leaves no room for the others to walk with us. I situate myself on True's shoulder as she glances between the folded map swiped from the reception desk and the street signs. We only get lost once, after taking a wrong turn at a dairy shop, but right ourselves back on track.  
  
We immediately know when we've reached the Celadon gym: grasses sway in the breeze against our legs as we follow a dirt path lined with half-trimmed bushes and flowers. The front of the building is lined with dark wood, but just behind it is a towering glass building that catches the light and blinds. We have to look down at the ground to keep our eyes from burning.  
  
I'm held in the crook of True's elbow when she passes through the door. The lobby is covered with vases of wild flowers in various states of bloom—bright red and orange arrangements twist into fabulous dances, while shaggy lavender in various dark blues and purples sprinkle pollen down into the dirt underneath them. My nose starts twitching the second we come in; and by the time we've gotten to the reception desk—dark wood with tiny flowers poking through the gaps in the boards—I'm trying my best not to sneeze.  
  
The woman, a purple-haired girl with a cut that accentuates her high cheekbones, looks up in interest. "You're here to challenge Erika?"  
  
"Um, yes," True says. "I have an appointment, I called... I called a few days ago, and—"  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Um." True gives the woman her ID, then eyes the decorative embroidery on the edge of the desk. "True Fargone."  
  
I sneeze, which draws eyes. I ignore them. I'm more focused instead on watching the girl as her eyes light up in recognition—they flicker to True's downcast face for a moment, then back to her ID. "You aren't—?"  
  
"She's here for a gym battle," I say shortly, and sniffle. "That's it."  
  
The girl blinks at me with a furrowed brow, then shrugs. "None of my business anyway. Do you have allergies?"  
  
That's enough to make True lift her head up. "Medical, or...?"  
  
"To plants. Pollen?" The purple-haired woman shuffles some paperwork on her desk before turning to the small computer monitor. "The arena's a greenhouse."  
  
"Oh." True thinks for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I'm... no. I'm not allergic. Not to anything floral, anyway."  
  
A few minutes breathing in the mingling scents, and I'm starting to feel better. This time when I brush my nose with the back of my paw, I don't feel as though I'm going to die.  
  
"Good," she says, as something "DING"s on the computer. "Seems you've cleared your check-in. I'll alert Erika to your arrival, but in the meantime, feel free to have a seat."  
  
True clumsily reclaims her ID and walks to a small waiting area by the door, which is lined with interlocking branches in various states of bloom. Bright pink buds and dark green leaves wink at us as we sit down in one of the chairs. I situate myself in True's lap as she returns her ID to her billfold, before slipping it back into the tiny zipper compartment of her backpack. "You sure you're going to be okay in there?" I ask.  
  
"I'm fighting Erika," she says simply. "Not my grandma."  
  
There isn't really anything I can say to that. I look around at the flowers that wink at us from their perches, and sigh. The soft whir of the fan is enough to blow some air onto my face, and that helps.  
  
"It's a grass-type gym," True says, looking over my head. "We have Clara and Jackson, and Wilkes might be able to do something, and—"  
  
"Relax," I say, pushing my paws into the soft plush of her belly. "Go in there with a clear head and we'll be... we'll be okay. Just—"  
  
"Miss Fargone, you're free to go in now."  
  
We both lift our heads to a husky gentleman who stands before us, his white shirt smudged with dirt. "Everyone's waiting for you in there."  
  
I jump down from True's lap as she stands, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders. "Thank you."  
  
The man's brown eyes twinkle as he nods and opens the door. As we pass, he whispers a kind "Good luck" before shutting the door.  
  
It isn't a long walk from the door to the battlefield, but it's a dark one: only a tiny string of lights illuminates our path. I think of summer stars as we approach a second set of doors. True's hand hovers over the brass handle but doesn't push down. "Worst case scenario, we come back," I tell her. "After some other badges. It happens."  
  
"Yeah," she says, and sighs. "Yeah. C'mon." She pushes the handle down and opens the door. I follow her on foot.  
  
If I had thought the reception room had been bad, the greenhouse is another beast entirely. Everything grows enthusiastically here; the colors are vibrant and the blooms are fantastically huge, exposing pale throats and beautiful petals that curl at the ends. Water drips off fanned leaves and onto my head and tickles my nose before landing on the dirt-and-grass floor beneath our feet. Long wispy trees with sturdy limbs stand like silent sentinels, guiding our way to the battlefield, glistening with a fine layer of dark moss. The heat is a blanket that covers us; I can already see a thin layer of sweat start to glisten across True's brow.  
  
Maybe I should have taken one of those scarves. If I breathe through my mouth... yeah, that works better.  
  
We have to look between thinned branches to see the crowd of people who usher in overhead. Most of them look down at us around mouth scarves, dyed every color of the rainbow; I even see a few spectators wearing masks and goggles, to protect their eyes and noses. True's attention is on them, as she looks around—perhaps to see if there's anyone she knows, or who might know her. I wouldn't know. My attention is focused more on the willowy girl with the dark shaggy hair who stands still on the other side of the battlefield. Her dark skin is glistening in the sunlight that streams from the glass roof high overhead, and her red lips are upturned in a small smile.  
  
When we've have a few moments to orient ourselves, she raises one gloved hand. The crowd, already respectably quiet, falls eerily silent.  
  
"Welcome to my gym, challenger," the kimono-clad woman says, in a low voice that carries well across the wide battlefield. "I am Erika."  
  
The mechanical whirring behind our heads draws everyone's attention. The crowd murmurs excitedly underneath their scarves and masks as True and I turn around, back where we had come, to see a giant screen flicker to life. Apart from the building that has been overgrown by various flora, this screen has been kept immaculate and clear of any overgrowth. The screen glints brightly for a moment before a large number "1" appears. Then "2." "3." All the way to "6" before the numbers start to fly, almost like—  
  
"I hope you didn't come with a single strategy, challenger," Erika says. "You'll have to be quick on your feet to win my badge."  
  
True's still looking at the screen as I turn my head back to the dark woman, who is already pulling out a Pokéball from one of her long, flowing sleeves. "The spinner determines how many Pokémon we'll be using. A recalled Pokémon cannot fight for the rest of the match. Do you accept these terms?"  
  
True looks down at me and meets my eyes before sighing. She nods. "I accept."  
  
The clicking stops. The crowd cheers. I turn to see a bright green "3" displayed for five seconds before the screen flashes dark. It comes back up to display True's and Erika's names—underneath each is a perfect "3."  
  
I hear the energy surge of a Pokémon being brought onto the battle field. True's still looking at the screen, one hand shaking over a Pokéball on her belt. My ears prick up with interest at the pair of bloodshot eyes that blink at me from a mass of tangled vines, at the tiny shuffling feet. I tug at True's pant leg until she looks away from the screen and to her opponent, and watch as her eyes narrow. "Tangela?"  
  
"Your first opponent," Erika answers calmly, slipping hand and Pokéball back into her sleeve.  
  
There had been a group of Tangela who lived in the far forests of Pallet Town; they'd been relatively peaceful, if elusive. True and I had seen them once a few years ago, from far away. I can't even fight the feeling of relief that surges in my belly as True nods. With a steady hand, she pulls a Pokéball from her belt and flings it upward. Clara emerges in a surge of hot-white light, screeching as she lands on the ground. Both wings, healthy after several intense treatments, are extended proudly as she lifts her head, swinging her sword-like beak back and forth.  
  
I hear the crowd murmur excitedly, but I don't look up at them.  
  
"Go for a Peck, Clara!" True shouts.  
  
Erika's smile is serene as she commands, "Wait for it, Euryale."  
  
One flap of Clara's wings is enough to get her airborne, and another is enough to send the Fearow barreling toward the Tangela. Euryale stands there until the last possible second, twisting her body to the side to avoid most of the blow. Clara just barely manages to evade smashing into the ground—I see claw marks where her nails have scraped at the dirt after she rises into the air again, shrieking and glaring at the mobile mass of vines.  
  
"Try it again, Clara," True says.  
  
Clara's not a graceful runner, by any means, but staying on the ground means less of a chance for a crash landing. Her wings are pulled closer to her sides as she awkwardly runs toward the Tangela, who isn't moving. Clara's beak finds its mark against a denser tangle of vines—Euryale skids onto the ground—  
  
"Go for the Bind!"  
  
And without warning, vines are shooting out from the Tangela's body, wrapping around the end of Clara's beak. The Fearow's shriek is muffled even as she thrashes violently; she's desperately beating Euryale with her mighty wings until more vines shoot out without warning. They pull the wings close to Clara's body until the only things Clara can move are her scrambling feet.  
  
It's as if I'm watching a rodeo—Euryale has twisted the vines in such a way that he's on top of Clara's head, encasing the bird Pokémon effortlessly. Clara's bucking underneath him, but with each violent outburst the vines grow tighter. I look up to see True's eyes widen, her mouth open. "Y-You need to calm down!" she stutters, already fingering for another Pokéball.  
  
Clara's shrieks are muffled, but she stills, just slightly, fixing one blue eye on True.  
  
"I think," Erika interjects, "it's time for a Mega Drain."  
  
Even in the natural sunlight that streams from the greenhouse roof, I can see the faint green glow that flickers through Euryale's body. Clara moans and bucks her head, hopping on the soil-and-dirt battlefield—  
  
"That's it." I look up when I hear True gasp, but before I have a chance to respond she's issuing a command. "Fall on the ground!"  
  
Murmurs from the crowd grow to excited whispers as Clara, with only a furrowing of her brow, slams her side into the ground. The vines slacken around her beak and neck just enough in that second of impact for Clara to free herself—True doesn't even have to give the command before Clara repeatedly attacks, stabbing the collection of vines with well-aimed pecks. I hear Euryale groan as Clara takes off into the air again, shrieking defiantly as her feathers catch sunlight.  
  
Euryale pulls his vines back to his body and starts to stand up—but with a groan, he falls to the ground, his tiny feet twitching.  
  
Erika doesn't even sigh when she pulls out Euryale's Pokéball again and recalls the Tangela. The crowd is cheering excitedly—I look around to see men nudging each other with elbows, a goggled lady pointing to a much prouder-looking Clara with a smile on her face.  
  
A bell sounds. True doesn't turn around, but I do, just in time to see the number under Erika's name tick down to "2."  
  
"You're doing well," Erika says. Her smile has fallen. "That Fearow of yours is well trained."  
  
The corner of True's mouth lifts up, and she nods, but she says nothing.  
  
Erika smiles before nodding. "Beatrice, Acid."  
  
She hasn't pulled out a Pokéball, how is—  
  
Clara turns her head just in time to see the splatter of dark-purple liquid splash against her wing. Her cry is panicked even before the yellow bell-like Pokémon collides into her. Both of them tumble down, landing hard on the ground with a  _thud_. The Weepinbell is smirking even as Clara shrieks, and only laughs when Clara beats her aside with a blow from her wing. The long appendage on the top of Beatrice's head extends to grab a low-reaching vine—Beatrice pulls herself up and hangs in the air, gesturing with her leaf-like arms at Clara.  
  
The Fearow is already on her feet, head bent down to the ground. The acid drips from its place of impact, droplets tugging feathers into slick, unnatural positions.  
  
"Stun Spore."  
  
"Fly out of there!" True shouts.  
  
And Clara does, arcing into the sky, but Beatrice is swinging along the vines that tumble down from the ceiling. She spews out a great cloud of yellow dust that just clips Clara's talons as she flies by. The pinkish feet fall slack underneath her, and Clara trills with alarm as she narrowly avoids impacting with a mossy tree. The Weepinbell finally legs go of the vine to land on Clara's shoulders, and sprays another cloud of dust that swallows Clara whole. She can't keep airborne—both fall to the ground, Beatrice landing comfortably on Clara's twitching body.  
  
"Mega—"  
  
"Clara, return!"  
  
The hand that clutches Clara's Pokéball is shaking, even after Clara has disappeared in a flash of red. True looks at me, wide eyed and panicked, an expression that doesn't go away even when I press against her leg. But she surprises me when she turns toward Erika, even shaky voices, and says, "I—I need a moment."  
  
I hear tittering from the crowd but I drown them out, because  _fuck them_. Erika raises her hand and the crowd falls silent again. "A minute."  
  
She picks me up immediately and holds me close to her, burying her nose into my neck and grabs me insistently. Her nails dig into the skin. I don't flinch, only close my eyes. "You're doing fine out there. Clara's going to be fine," I say, aware of the bell that signals the Fearow's withdrawal from the match. It doesn't matter though, it doesn't, and I tell her so. "We're going to be okay. Just breathe."  
  
I'm aware of the impatient thrum of the audience, and I want to say something, but True doesn't give me the opportunity. Her lips meet my forehead before she puts me down, and before I can even say a word she's plucked the next Pokéball off her belt and thrown it up. I don't even have to look up at the battle field to know who she's called—the smell of ash and the sound of a long tail slamming the ground is enough to tell me that it's Jackson.  
  
Above our heads, the crowd cheers. Jackson looks up, his mouth opened in a tiny "o"—when he lifts a clawed hand, the noise surges. He smiles.  
  
"Pay attention!" I yell. Jackson turns to look at me and smirks before turning back to his opponent.  
  
Erika smiles. "If you don't mind, Beatrice."  
  
"Gladly," the bell-shaped plant snickers, and spews another cloud of golden dust in Jackson's direction.  
  
"Get out of there!" True yells—And he does, vanishing underground. The dust sprinkles the freshly-dug hole with a fine layer of gold that shimmers in the sunlight.  
  
The serene smile on Erika's face falls. Both trainer and Pokémon look around the grass-and-dirt field. "Keep an eye out, Beatrice."  
  
Moments pass into a minute. Even True starts to get anxious as Jackson continues to stay out of sight. But without warning, without even a sound to announce his arrival, Jackson erupts underneath Beatrice, claws slashing. No sooner has the command left True's lips does Jackson fire a hot Ember into Beatrice's open mouth. I'm watching Erika even as Jackson slams his tail against Beatrice's head, sending her flying across the field. She's only just landed with a dull thud when Erika recalls the Weepinbell, her dark eyes narrowed.  
  
Jackson wipes a smudge of dirt from the side of his face, to the crowd's delight.  
  
True's face has broken into a relieved smile, which doesn't fade even when Erika sends out her final Pokémon. The white light materializes into a large Pokémon, standing tall even with the huge blood-red petals weighing down on its head. Both stubby arms are held behind it as the Vileplume shakes its weighted head. The wisp of a girl pulls a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear before returning to her neutral stance. "Rhea, I think it's time to put this Charmeleon to sleep."  
  
Rhea only grunts as the petals on her head start vibrating. The off-blue powder creeps slowly across the battlefield. It's plenty of time for Jackson to dive underneath the ground again, sending up dirt clods and torn grass in his drive to escape. I'm starting to worry about True when the dust finally settles, a foot or two away from the perimeter of the yard. True's eyes have narrowed, the excited smile pulled back into a hard line.  
  
"Now!" True shouts, and Jackson erupts again from the ground, claws outstretched and flame flickering between his teeth—  
  
"Petal Dance!"  
  
The Vileplume practically vanishes in the swirl of bright pink petals that release, tearing into Jackson. Immediately the Charmeleon brings a clawed paw to protect his eyes, sending out a shower of Embers to counter the sudden maelstrom—but the fire dissipates in the sea of petals, blinding and ripping. Blue and red are lost in the chaos as Rhea continues to spin, around and around until I have to look away. The petals that fall to the ground are bloodstained or charred or ripped or bitten, littering the ground—but there's no stopping the storm, only waiting it out.  
  
And he waits, bringing both arms to cover his face and eyes. Every time he tries to move, petals fly into him, slicing more skin. My heart's in my throat and I see True pluck Jackson's Pokéball off from her belt, but even I know that there won't be an escape for him until the Vileplume is finished.  
  
And it finally does, when Rhea slows down just enough to become unsteady on her giant feet. The opening is there in a gentler fall of duller petals, and when Jackson lowers his arms he takes it, shooting through the dead flurry to blow a steady stream of fire into the Vileplume's face. She's spinning too much for it to cause that much damage—or that's what I think, until the edges of her heavy red petals erupt into flame. The whir of dancing fades into screeches as Rhea falls to the ground, rolling her face and head in the grass.  
  
Erika's face falls.  
  
Blood is dripping down his arms as Jackson slams his burning tail into the Vileplume's face; he snarls something I can't hear as he blows another jet of hot flame. This time the blast does its damage, striking Rhea's side. The crowd is roaring and on their feet, slamming their hands against the iron bars that separate the stands from the open arena—I hear the hum of vibrating metal and the whisper of plants brushing against each other, feel my own heart pounding in my chest—  
  
"Enough," Erika says.  
  
This time the crowd ignores her, chanting Jackson's name over and over again, wild vicious cries that sound more like a League match, not the polite whispers we'd heard earlier. True's hands are on me as she pulls me up into her arms, crushing me against her chest, her fingers digging into the soft scruff of my neck.  
  
"I said  _enough!_ " Erika yells, turning her face upward toward the crowd.  
  
There is silence, save for Rhea's shrieks and her large petals scraping dirt and grass. Her face hard, Erika extends her arm in one fluid motion to recall her Vileplume. I look behind us to see the green "1" under Erika's name click to "0" before the screen fades to black.  
  
Erika sighs, adjusting a few of the locks that have been thrown out of place from her mild outburst. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand before she walks toward us, hands clasped together underneath her dark kimono sleeves. True hesitantly takes a step forward, but stops when I pull her pants leg. We watch together as Erika clears the battlefield and approaches us, bowing down to the hip before pulling a tiny rainbow-painted flower from her sleeve.  
  
"It is my pleasure to present you," she begins, then pauses. "To present you, Trainer True, with the Rainbow Badge."  
  
True's hands are still shaky when she accepts the badge, holding it close in her palm. Up close, I can see that Erika's hands are twitching as well. She hides them by pulling them back into her sleeves, and doesn't spare me a glance as she turns to True. "You fought well. Continue to raise your Pokémon with care."  
  
I'm about to say something before Erika leans her head close to True's. I hear True's breath hitch as Erika whispers something in her ear; it's so low that even I can't make out the words. I don't get a chance to ask for a repeat, from Erika or from True, before the former leaves us for the second and final time, past a curtain of wildflowers and vines into another room.  
  
We don't acknowledge the cheering crowd as we head for our entrance door. The second it closes, True stumbles into the corner of the dark corridor, clutching me tightly in her arms. I'm facing her with my paws on her cheeks as she breathes and leans her head on the wall.  
  
"What'd she say to you?" I ask, but she shakes her head.  
  
We don't have a way to tell how much time passes, but this attack feels like a short one. Definitely shorter than some of the others. True's gripped onto that badge so tightly that I smell the blood even before she opens her hand, where the sharp edges have cut into her skin. There's just enough light to see by for True to place the badge in the small badge case, and then to place it back in the pocket with her billfold and Pokédex. Finally when her breathing has evened out and she isn't shaking as much, she stands. I stay in her arms and press my nose against her cheek. "You did really great out there."  
  
"Jackson and Clara did," she says, but I can feel her smile. "Now we just need to get everyone healed, and then we'll get out of here."  
  
"I'm thinking pastries tonight," I say as True pushes open the door that leads back into the lobby.  
  
"That sounds like a plan," she says with a smile.  
  
There's hardly anyone in the lobby. I hear the click-clack of keyboard keys, so I know someone's at the reception desk. But my eye is drawn to the figure in the faded gray hoodie lounging on the far side of the wall, speaking to the brawny Electabuzz at his side. It's the striped Pokémon who notices us first, his antennae-like ears twitching excitedly.  
  
It's the same one from the Casino.  
  
"We need to get out of here," I whisper to True, who's still staring at the man and his Pokémon by the door.  
  
But she doesn't have time to take another step, because the stranger looks up and pushes himself off the wall. "That was a great battle," the man says. "Your Charmeleon especially. Using Dig to get away from the Powders... that's really impressive."  
  
True holds tightly to me as she fingers for the Pokéball on her belt—  
  
"No, no," he says gently. "I'm a friend. I won't hurt you."  
  
"You'd look more friendly with the hood off," the Electabuzz says, in that same weary voice from the Casino.  
  
"Oh. Probably, yeah," the man laughs. When he brings his arms up, his long sleeves slide down his arms, exposing lightly scarred hands. "Tanza's the one with the brains."  
  
"Are... are you the one Erika warned me about?" True asks, already fingering a Pokéball. Wilkes, maybe, or even Minka  
  
"I wouldn't do that," the girl at reception calls out. Her fingers still click-clack against the keys, but she's looking at us with an amused expression on her face. "You may have beaten Erika, but I doubt you're a match for him."  
  
"Kels, come on, I'm a total teddy bear," the man says, as he finally pulls down his hood.  
  
I've paid so little attention to the media in the past ten years that I almost don't recognize him. He's cut his hair short, and he's lost some of the baby fat from his cheeks, gained more muscle. But the red-brown skin and the striking hazel eyes are the same, and the natural upturn of his lips are the same, even if the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes are new.  
  
But True, who I know has followed every League since she was old enough to watch, recognizes him immediately. "You're—"  
  
"Just don't call me 'Mr. Mancon,'" he says, rocking on his heels.  
  
"But you're," True starts, her face flushing. "You're the—the Ch—"  
  
"Or that," I say, screwing my eyes shut.  
  
When I finally open them, I'm almost expecting to see the little boy I had known again, the battling prodigy who had defeated the Elite Four at fourteen. But I see a grizzled twenty-four-year-old man instead, who's looking at me so gently with his hand outstretched and shaking.  
  
I've only seen them shake once, right after... well.  _After_.  
  
"It's great to see you again, Case," he says softly, even though the last time we'd seen each other had been anything but  _great_. "I really—"  
  
"Why're you here, Chris," I say flatly.  
  
"Do you," True starts to say, then clears her throat. "Y-You know him?"  
  
I don't answer. I hear Chris sigh and look up to see that he's pulled his hoodie back up over his head. "We'll go into personal history later," he says, as he outstretches his hand again. "Mind taking a walk with me?"  
  
"She needs to heal her Pokemon," I growl, looking away.  
  
"'Course," he says. Out of the corner of my eye I see him rub the back of his head. "I mean, after that. If you wanted to... y'know. Talk."  
  
Still a goddamn flirt. Still tripping over words.  
  
"What about—?" I start, until True taps my mouth with a finger.  
  
"How're we supposed to... I mean, you're  _you_ , and I'm... what's this about?" she finally finishes, adjusting her backpack straps.  
  
It's Tanza who answers, drawing himself to his full height—he would tower over me, maybe even Britt, and even though he only hits the top of True's hip she still flinches. "That's private business. We're inviting you, True, and Case—"  
  
"Don't call me that," I say.  
  
He doesn't skip a beat. "Force of habit," the Electabuzz says smoothly, before continuing. "We need you for a special assignment."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "We're not interested."  
  
"If you would just listen to our proposal—"  
  
But Tanza stops when True shakes her head. "I really... I do need to get Jackson and Clara healed," she says, and moves away from the door, away from  _Champion Mancon_  and his Electabuzz. "So if this can wait—"  
  
"The discovery of Team Rocket in the city means this  _can't_  wait any longer," Chris says.  
  
She stops.  
  
"Given... given your—"  
  
"You're a prime candidate for intelligence," Tanza says softly. "All we ask is that you come meet with us. We can't go into detail here."  
  
"You're fucking kidding me," I hiss. "You can't just intercept a girl an' ask her to—"  
  
"Just meet with you?"  
  
My head whips up at True, who's staring with a steeled expression at Chris. Her hand finds my paw and rests on it; she's shaking again.  
  
"Just meet with us," Chris says. "If you don't want to continue, you're free to leave."  
  
I'm already shaking my head when she looks down at me. "You have no idea what they want, y'can't—I don't—"  
  
"This is my decision," she says softly. "And just hearing—"  
  
"You just need to think," I reply. "We don't know what we're doing, and I don't—"  
  
"Meet us in the Pokemon Center," True says definitively, turning to Chris and Tanza. "Then I'll go with you."  
  
Chris slips both hands into the pockets on his stomach and nods, scuffing the tile with his sneaker. "We'll see you back there, then."  
  
True nods her head and adjusts her hold on me. I look up at her, my eyes narrowed. "What the fuck did Erika even say to you?"  
  
"That we could trust him," she says simply, pausing only to readjust her backpack.  
  
They haven't moved an inch, even when we pass through the sliding glass doors. Against my better judgment I chance a look at Chris. We don't stop looking at each other until distance becomes too much to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 5.5k words, this is the longest chapter in Wonderwall. #fuckmylife
> 
> Those of you who frequent the Wonderwall Tumblr have seen glimpses of Chris Mancon, the current Kanto League Champion, but I'm excited to finally bring him into the actual narrative. He's going to be a key player for all of the shenanigans ahead of us. The end of this chapter marks the very beginning of the Saffron arc of Wonderwall, and it's something I have been looking forward to writing _so much_. (Not entirely because of Chris.  There's also Tanza.)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter; it was a fun one to work on!


	41. Chapter Thirty-Eight

I don't have to look behind to know that Tanza and Chris are following us. We don't lose them in the city, where people filter in and out of shops and narrow streets. I don't see them when we enter the Pokémon Center, and for a moment I'm relieved—but as True passes Jackson and Clara's Pokéballs to the dark-haired nurse at the counter, I turn around to see them standing by the entrance, being careful not to engage with any of the passerby.  
  
I should stay with her in line, by the reception desk, but I don't. I hop off of True's shoulder with a muttered "I need to lie down" and park myself on one of the red couches near the dorms. The drone of the television overhead isn't enough to mute most of the sounds from the main lobby, but the flashing pictures are something better to concentrate on than the clatter of feet, or Chris's eyes—  
  
"Are you feeling alright, dear?"  
  
I jump up with a start, but as soon as I find Minka's eyes, I settle. The Ivysaur is too large and clumsy to jump onto the high couch, but she's tall enough to see over the plush lip of the cushions. I lean away from the fat back to rest against the edge, so that our faces almost touch. "What're you doing out here?"  
  
"I wanted some fresh air," Minka says. She glances over to True, who's standing close to the front desk with one ankle tucked behind the other. "I've been in the ball for a while, now."  
  
"Feel good to be out?" I ask mechanically.  
  
I think she can tell, because her quiet "Of course" seems courteous instead of sincere.  
  
There's some sort of cooking show on TV now. A how-to guide to make your own poffins. There's a fat old lady mixing furiously into a pink bowl, being cheered on by a happy Cleffa. It's staged and sugary sweet, but I still can't help but watch.  
  
"You seem stressed," Minka says, and extends a vine to touch my forearm.  
  
My shoulders feel like rocks and my feet could be made of lead. But I shake my head and turn away from the screen to stare at Minka, who's blinking back at me from calm red eyes. "Am not."  
  
"You're lying to me."  
  
I roll my eyes. "How do you know?"  
  
"Because I'm me," she says simply. When I open my mouth to reply, she shakes her head and smiles. "I'm old, and I know everything.  _Especially_  when people are lying."  
  
I can't help the smile that fidgets into place, but I turn away to watch the two figures leaning against the wall by the entrance. Chris obviously has had some experience sneaking into public—he has the hood of his sweatshirt up and his arms crossed, head bowed. People walk right past him, and though a few pass a few awkward glances his way, they don't stop. It doesn't seem to bother him, or the Electabuzz who's mirrored his stance right beside him. But Tanza's eyes aren't hidden under a hood, which means I can see him stare at me.  
  
"If you know everything, tell me why we have to be the ones getting wrapped into all of this," I say, breaking eye-contact from both inquiring parties.  
  
"Tell me what 'this' is, first," she says.  
  
So I tell her everything I know, which isn't much. Every tenth word or so I look over to Tanza—sometimes our eyes meet and sometimes they don't, and sometimes Chris catches us and stares right alongside his Electabuzz. Minka listens attentively, also throwing a few glances Tanza's way. He doesn't look at her the way he does at me. Neither of them look at her the way they look at me.  
  
When I finish, she shakes her head; I hear her leaves rustle as she lays down on the floor, releasing a faint aroma. It smells like wildflowers basking in the summer sun, and for a moment I'm thinking of the fields back in Pallet Town. I close my eyes and take it in, even as she starts to talk again. "I don't know."  
  
I chuckle. "Didn't think I'd make you a liar so quickly."  
  
"Well, perhaps I spoke too soon," she says, and laughs. "I wasn't there when you first met him."  
  
I scoff. "You make it sound like I know him."  
  
"And  _you_  make it sound like your first encounter with the Electabuzz wasn't at the Hideout. Not to mention that even I know, from what little True told me, who that man is. And people you just meet don't watch others the way they're watching you." When I open my eyes, she's staring at me, head tilted. "So.  _Do_  you know them?"  
  
I know  _of_  them, now. But I don't know if I know them, not anymore. I'd known Chris in another lifetime—the last time we'd seen each other had been right before he and Al had left for Victory Road. I can only just recall an Electabuzz on that team. Maybe I'd met him during that brief visit. I don't remember; I can recall flashes of me playing guitar with my brother in front of a fireplace, and me teaching him a new song I'd heard on the radio. Maybe Tanza had been there, hovering in the doorway, but I don't remember. He hadn't been important enough to remember.  
  
And after the League matches, well. I tried to forget as much of them as I could.  
  
"If it were up to me," Minka starts to say, enough to jar me off of the Buneary-trail I'd been following, "I would keep my eye out for them."  
  
"What do you think I'm doing, going with them? True doesn't know what she's getting into, and—" I cut myself off, and sigh.  
  
"But that said," Minka stresses, "I think we should hear them out."  
  
I don't get a chance to respond before True comes up to us, smiling. "Clara and Jackson are all healed up. You guys doing okay?"  
  
"We're fine," Minka says with a smile. She bats me on the forearm until I'm smiling, too. "Shall we get going?"  
  
True picks me up and cradles me to her chest; I listen to her heartbeat, and hope that mine will slow down to follow her example. I look over to see Tanza and Chris walk toward us, with hands buried in pockets or brushing furry thighs. Chris winks and smiles under the shadow of his hoodie. "You guys want a proper escort, or—?"  
  
"Walking's fine," True says, before I can say something else. "Do we know where we're going?"  
  
"Just follow me and Tanza," Chris says, and leads the way.  
  
You would think we would lose them in the crowds, but we don't—Chris keeps a leisurely pace, chitchatting with Tanza about pastry shops and the latest Celadon fashion. (Even I agree with him about the multitude of Pidgey-down collared coats: it's tacky.) I ride on True's shoulder while Minka walks contentedly beside us, her vine wrapped around True's arm so as to keep herself connected to us.  
  
It isn't a long walk, even though we pass what feels like a million shops and twice as many people. By the time we start approaching Route Sixteen, the people have begun to taper off. Machoke and Magmar pass us, some dipping their yellow caps to True and to Minka, as they retire from a long day's work; I smell smoke on their skin and have to fight not to gag.  
  
"Oh, I never did get to see Celadon's Chester's," Minka tuts.  
  
"Overrated dance club," Tanza says ahead of us. He turns his head slightly and laughs. "Food's overpriced, and the tables are rarely clean."  
  
I laugh from True's arms. "At least something's the same."  
  
Minka huffs but says nothing.  
  
It's a short route—even before we step onto it, we can see the gleaming entrance to Kanto's Cycling Road. Connecting the two points is a dirt road, dusty and dry and smelling of the sea, but elsewhere there's grass and bits from Shellder eaten long ago.  
  
Chris doesn't continue down the path, though. He leads us into the tall grass instead. Any Pokémon we disturb are driven away by Tanza punching electrified fists into the ground, or even Minka's warning sprays of dark blue powder. We go in this fashion for a little bit, past the grass and into a thin line of trees, and it's only when the sun's starting its descent in the west that I see it.  
  
It's a tiny house, out in the middle of nowhere—not quite worn down, though there's paint missing from the wooden walls and weeds grow everywhere. Compared to the glistening entrance to Cycling Road, this little house is nothing special, something easily noticed in a traveler's haste to get from one point to another. It makes a perfect hiding spot, if you want to keep out of sight.  
  
The only thing that's different is the way that Chris and Tanza stand in front of the door—iron and gleaming from the sun. If I hadn't been concentrating on them so hard, I wouldn't have seen the tiny flashes of red that emit from the peek-hole, or Chris's mouthed words. From inside, I hear something click, and the door opens.  
  
"In you go," Chris says, pulling away to the side to let us through. Minka goes in first, slow and steady. True follows, stealing a glance at Chris before slipping into the house. I'm more hesitant, edging at the passageway. Tanza starts to come forward, which is enough incentive to get into the house.  
  
There's nothing here that personalizes it—no photos on the walls, no half-folded throws over the chairs. It seems empty, even though there's plenty of people here in a cramped space. I climb up onto one of the chairs, a padded recliner, and take in the view, thankful to have a bit of breathing room to myself.  
  
"Whoever's rocking the chair, quit it."  
  
I look down to see a Sandslash curled up into a bristling ball. He looks up at me with dark eyes and twitches his long pale ears. I grimace. "Oh. Uh, sorry," I say.  
  
He grunts, opening up to expose a flash of his pale belly. "Who're you, anyway?"  
  
"I really don't—?"  
  
But he shakes his head, as if disagreeing with himself. "Eh, what do I care. It's just sleep. Just don't do it again." He pauses for a moment before breaking out into a sly grin. "Unless you want to be unseated."  
  
I don't even know this Sandslash and I'm already feeling antsy, and—wait. "Was that... a  _pun_?"  
  
"What, you're not a fan? Lighten up," the Sandslash says. He stands up on his stout legs and looks up at me, his long nose twitching. "C'mon, it's not that bad. No hard feelings. I'm feeling…  _chair-itable_."  
  
Minka groans as she walks up to sit beside the chair. "I think I remember that from the back of an old gum wrapper."  
  
"For your information, Miss Green-around-the-gills," he says, "it was one of Gary's drink cans. The kind with the funny sayings."  
  
I only have enough time to process "Gary" before I see Cassidy come out from a shadowed corner, an exasperated look on her face. "More of your puns, Sheldon?"  
  
The Sandslash shrugs, but that smirk won't leave his face. "Just listen, fishface. How'm I supposed to turn that down when my regulars are bored with my usual material?"  
  
"Sheldon, you know you're my friend, right?" Cassidy asks.  
  
The Sandslash blinks. "It's been a while since I've heard you say it, but yeah, I guess so."  
  
"As your friend, I'm telling you that your usual material stinks," Cassidy says bluntly.  
  
It doesn't seem to faze him; his smile only grows wider. "Yeah, and you're a stick-in-the-mud," Sheldon retorts, sticking his tongue out. He turns to Minka with a smile. "Now why don't  _you_  pull up a seat, and we'll just take a breather."  
  
I laugh and shake my head. I can faintly hear Minka say "I'm really not a fan of puns" but I'm focused more on Cassidy, who gestures me over to another seat in the tiny room. I jump off the recliner and follow her to a small seat tucked away in the corner.  
  
"Don't mind Sheldon," she says, as she situates herself. "He's really awful with jokes, but he means well."  
  
"I have enough Sheldons on my team to know how to deal with him," I say. She laughs. "What're you doing here, though?"  
  
"Gary got brought here by that man over there," she says, pointing toward Chris. "We've only been here a few hours—actually, it was just before we left from lunch."  
  
What, had they been following  _both_  of us?  
  
But Cassidy doesn't seem fazed at all; she's beaming, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "You know who he is, right? The  _Champion!_  I never thought I'd be able to meet him, not before I could battle—but I'm going too fast," she says nervously. "Sorry. How'd your gym battle go? Is that why you're here?"  
  
"It went fine," I start to say, as I turn to True. She's seated herself down at a small table in what looks to be the dining room, sitting right in front of Gary, who's folded his hands on the bit of table in front of him. "Clara and Jackson were great. I don't know if that's why we're here, though."  
  
"Hmm." She presses a paw against my leg. "I bet you'd—"  
  
She doesn't get to finish her sentence, because I spark involuntarily. She flinches with a wince and licks her paw, eyeing me with a question in her eyes. If my cheeks could get any redder, they would have. "Shit, I'm—I'm sorry, I didn't—"  
  
Cassidy's face is flushed, and she's laughing nervously. "No, I—"  
  
"Lookin' flustered again, Cass," Gary teases. There's a damp towel slung over his bare shoulders, and a boyish grin on his face. "Just because we're with the Champion doesn't mean we should get big heads."  
  
" _You're_  the one telling her not to get a big head?" Sheldon retorts.  
  
"Pokémon are like their trainers," True calls from the other room. Gary turns to her, and must mouth something, because she shakes her head. "Just saying."  
  
"Well  _I'm_  going to take it as a compliment," he says, and practically struts to sit opposite True.  
  
Cassidy groans, and I can't help but laugh.  
  
"I think we should get started," Chris says, unzipping his hoodie. He drops it onto the back of his chair unceremoniously and looks at the four of us. "You guys want to be a part of the meeting?"  
  
Cassidy and I don't even give a verbal response; I jump onto the table, just in reach of True's hands—they find my shoulders and pull me close to her chest. When I turn to her, though, she's staring straight ahead at Gary, who's staring straight back at her. Minka and Sheldon stay right where they are by the chair, watching on from a distance. "This chair's too comfortable for me to move from," Sheldon whines.  
  
Minka just shrugs.  
  
I look at Cassidy and try a half-hearted smile. She returns it. I shouldn't be relieved that she seems just as weary as I do… but, well, I do.  
  
Chris sits down at the side of the table, looking for all the world like a Pokémon League official. There was a time when he would have been slouched over, his hands underneath his chin, wearing a cocky grin. There's a hint of that in his eyes, but his face is stoic . He takes one look at True, and then Gary, and finally me before securing his eyes on an unadorned hook on the pale wall.  
  
"We've tried to get them from the outside for years," Chris says. "It hasn't worked. So we're planning on going inside."  
  
"Covert operation?" True asks. Her brows have furrowed over her eyes. "But how—?"  
  
"We already have a few people inside to streamline the process," Chris says. "They'll help you get registered with Team Rocket, and get you your uniforms. You'll get assignments inside the building. And then, when the moment strikes, we—"  
  
Gary's short burst of laughter catches us off guard. "This is stupid. Why can't we just storm the building?"  
  
"The way you did their Hideout in Celadon?" True asks. "It's not like that."  
  
"Yeah," Gary says, "you'd know, wouldn't you?"  
  
Electricity jumps from my cheeks. True's grip on my shoulder tightens ,vice-like. "I know nothing," she says. "But I'm just saying—"  
  
"So why're you so confident?" Gary retorts. "I mean, if your—"  
  
"She's right," Tanza interrupts, pulling himself onto the vacant chair beside his trainer. "There's a difference between a satellite hideout and a base of operations."  
  
"We need this to be a stealth operation," Chris says, lowering his chin onto bunched fists. "We want there to be as little disruption as possible, and we don't want anyone getting hurt. Team Rocket is a menace that needs to be taken down, and the League has determined that this is the best way to take them out for good."  
  
True pulls back into her chair, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.  
  
"How deep would we be going?" Cassidy asks. "We wouldn't…  _be_  Team Rocket members, would we?"  
  
Chris shakes his head, and I feel my stomach unclench the tiniest bit. From behind me, True sighs with relief. "No. Most likely scenario, you'd be mail room. Maybe security detail, if you catch the eye of one of the lower admins. We're hoping to not be in there for very long. And even if you do have to go on those missions, it'll be better to have someone who doesn't mean anyone harm."  
  
"Hang on," Gary says. "'We'? Where're you going to be during all of this?"  
  
The smile that stretches Chris's face is one I finally recognize, boyish and charming. "I've been the acting Kanto Champion for ten years. They'll know who I am the second I walk in that door. That's why we need trainers who haven't really made headway into the League. They won't think twice about a few trainers with some badges coming in."  
  
It's not an answer enough for Gary, judging by his furrowed brow. "But you'll be—?"  
  
"Still accessible through our people," Chris finishes patiently. He tilts his head. "Actually, if you guys have psychic-types, we'll be able to have an easier connection."  
  
"And if we don't?" Britt asks from the floor.  
  
"We can loan you one, if you don't want to have to catch one yourself. But it'd probably be better for you to have one. They're handy."  
  
"Just don't get a know-it-all like Michaela," Sheldon shouts from the other room. I hear a vine crack right before Sheldon hisses, and hear Minka's soft bubble of laughter.  
  
"Uh, anyway," Chris interrupts, leaning into the table. "That's the plan as far as I know it."  
  
"Or are able to tell us," I say.  
  
"Well, I'm in for it," Gary says confidently. "I got in and out of the Rocket Hideout without any backup but my team."  
  
"Fuck yeah!" Sheldon calls.  
  
I'm hyper-aware of True's long exhale, and turn to see her staring straight at Chris. "I don't know..."  
  
"If you don't want to do it, just say so," Gary sneers. "There's enough  _good_  trainers who have things under control."  
  
True's hands clench into fists. "I'm just as good as you are, Gary."  
  
"As a battler, maybe," he admits. "But let's face it, I doubt we really need someone with  _your_ —"  
  
I fire a small bolt of electricity at Gary, eyes narrowed. He jumps out of his seat, wide-eyed, and stares at me. Cassidy looks just as frustrated when Gary turns to her; she mutters something under her breath that I can't hear, but judging from the stony look on Gary's face, he's gotten her message.  
  
I give him mine: "You say another goddamn word," I snarl, "and I won't miss."  
  
The chair underneath True whines as she adjusts herself. "I want an end to Team Rocket just as much as anyone. Maybe more." Her back's straight and her voice is confident, even if her hands are still shaking. "I need to do this for... for Peter and Kerri and... and for everyone else."  
  
Flashes of blood. Salt water. Bile rises to my throat at the images. I have to fight to swallow it down because I know Kerri would have agreed with her, without hesitation.  
  
"That's the spirit," Chris says, and smiles. "Honestly, your status with Team Rocket... it'll probably help us. Judging from our data, people with family members already in Team Rocket are more likely to join than people without any connections to the group. If you combine that with your badges, you should be alright. And you always have your Pokémon to help you out, right?"  
  
Her eyes are tight. "I'm… yeah. Yeah," she says, as she looks to Minka. The Ivysaur nods, more serious than I've ever seen her.  
  
"You're sure there isn't another way?" I ask, looking up.  
  
"As sure as I can be." Chris's eyes meet mine. "I obviously don't know how this will work, but I know this is probably our best shot at taking them down for good. You can trust me."  
  
It takes me a second to realize that the sharp laughter in the room is mine. I look down at the table, my eyes narrowed, and look down at my clenched fists.  
  
I hear Tanza clear his throat. "Unless you can think of a better plan, Casey?"  
  
"A plan that doesn't involve going into Team Rocket's home base unarmed, without any preparation? Give me a minute and I'm sure I'll think of somethin'," I growl.  
  
"It's not like we're going in totally blind," Chris says, his eyes narrowing. "Like I said, we have a plan—"  
  
"And a back-up plan should we need it," Tanza interrupts.  
  
"We have a team inside, and I have faith in you—"  
  
"Faith's not going to keep us safe," I say slowly. "We're dealing with a  _terrorist group_ , I think I heard you say that—"  
  
"You've got four badges," Chris says, "and I saw your battle with Erika, obviously your trainer knows what she's doing—"  
  
"Knowing what you're supposed to do doesn't mean it's going to happen!" I growl, and stand up.  
  
Chris stands up from his chair, both hands braced on the table. "That's why we have a  _team_ , and why this isn't just a storm on the base. This is what we've been planning for for years—"  
  
I hear my brother's voice:  _"All this hard work's finally gonna pay off."_  
  
"We've gone through the risks carefully," Chris says, "and I'm the one in the best position to lead this attack—"  
  
 _"He's the leader of the whole team, Case, and I'm with him!"_  
  
"This is the right thing to do, we're going to protect so many people—"  
  
 _"It's going to be so good, you just watch."_  
  
"—if you'd only just  _trust me_ —"  
  
And I snap.  
  
"Y'think you can come'n find us and act like nothin's changed? Like there's nothin' to be sorry for?" My cheeks ache and my stomach clenches, but I don't stop. "That workin' as a team now'll make up for what you did back then?"  
  
When True squeezes my shoulder, I brush her off; I flinch out of the touch like it's fire, like I'm about to be burned. I think I hear Cassidy call my name, but I'm deaf to it; I'm just staring into Chris's eyes. I feel electricity tickling my cheeks, nipping at the sides of my face—and it feels so  _fucking good_ , like I'm relieving an itch that's been begging to be scratched for years.  
  
Tanza stands straight up in his chair, towering over everyone else at the table. Electricity surges in the thick fur of his arms, so that they look twice their size, but it's his eyes that are intimidating—a red-brown that threatens to pin me to the table, right then and there. "You have no idea—Case—"  
  
And it's that name—how many times did I hear my brother call me that? how many nights did I want him to call me that again?—that drives that final nail in. "My brother'd be  _alive_  right now if you didn't keep him in, if he didn't  _trust you_  the way you want us to trust you now!"  
  
Any sign of fight leaves Tanza: the electric antennae droop, his arms go slack, and his tail falls. His head bows, but his eyes—no longer threatening to pin me to a pulp, but to stay and listen—they don't leave me, even when I've broken eye-contact to look over at Chris, who looks just as stunned.  
  
I don't care. I don't care about the gobsmacked look on Gary's face, Minka's horrified expression—I don't even care about Cassidy, who's staring at me as though I've turned into something else right before her eyes. Which is  _fine_ , because she changed away from mine, and that's almost worse, really—  
  
And I hear True's broken whimper, I hear her standing up from the table to pursue me—but if I stop I'll shock her, and I can't hurt her, I  _won't_  hurt her—so I race into another room with a window. I trip over blankets that have been mussed with sleep to get to the window sill, and paw at the bottom until I find a latch.  _Perfect_. The sharp hook catches on my palm and slices. I smell blood, but it feels good right now, it's sharp and red and raw and  _real_  and I need that, I think, as I leave a bloody pawprint on the window glass and tumble onto the ground, and I run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently hosting a Q&A through the Wonderwall Tumblr (wonderwallnuzlocke . tumblr . com) so if you have any questions to ask anyone who's appeared in the story so far--and I do mean everyone--feel free to submit them! I'll be taking questions until the 27th of June. :)


	42. Chapter Thirty-Nine

I don't remember the last time I had run like this. Not "chasing after kids" running, or "let's put on a burst of speed because  _why not_ " running. Like "running for my life" running. "Running to feel something again" running. Breath comes in sharp, greedy gasps, and rocks scrape against my paws, and the long strands of grass swipe against my face. I keep running.  
  
Something strikes me on my side, sending me flying. Flight becomes fight and I release a weak burst of electricity, not focusing on any one target. They strike the ground, and from the surprised yelp, they strike my attacker. By the time I've landed the fat Rattata is shaking his head, thick whiskers twitching.  
  
"Just wanted a fight," the tiny thing says. No stutter. His dark brown eyes—not gold, not Peter's—narrow at mine as he holds his curled tail up into the air. "Wanna spar?"  
  
I'm already winded, but the electricity is there in my cheeks again, begging for a release. On a different day, I would tell the feisty Rattata to find another opponent. But today, I crouch down into a defensive position and grip the ground with all four paws.  
  
The fight doesn't last very long—we tackle each other a few times, I zap him once. He's big but he's young and inexperienced and clumsy, and I don't know if that's because he doesn't have many others to fight, or if I'm somehow screwing this up. But it doesn't feel like it—my legs are moving and my heart is pumping, and when his razor-sharp fangs bite down hard on my tail, it's instinctual to zap him. And I do, a short burst of electricity surges through me. He lets go. Falls to the ground a few inches away from me.  
  
And he doesn't get up right away, which starts me panicking—what if I hurt him, what if I—but with a wheeze the pudgy thing is up on his feet. He stumbles once while getting up, but he's bright-eyed and smiling as he looks at me. "Good fight."  
  
My breath comes too quickly to give him a proper response, so I nod. And just like that, he leaves as quickly as he had appeared.  
  
I don't feel stronger after that fight. I feel tired. My ears are drooping and my body is sagging close to the rocky ground. But there isn't as much electricity in my body as there had been before, and that feels good. There are even dark burns on the ground where my bolts had made their mark.  
  
I know what Kerri would say to that.  _"It means you're learning. That's a good thing, electric man."_  
  
What's the better sign that you're losing your grip on reality: imagining conversations with dead people, or trying to see them in the faces of the living?  
  
So I think about other things, that are here and  _real_  even if I'm far away from them. I think about rocks, big enough to climb on top of and bask in the sun. It makes me want the bubbling creeks that threaded its way through south Pallet. And I want a forest of shady trees and the quiet singing of Pidgey whistling while they work. I want fresh flowers and the sound of children playing in the distance. I don't want this long grass, I want beaten dirt paths and not an endless sea of yellow-green.  
  
I want all the things that I can't have right now, and I wonder if thinking about tangible things was the worst mistake of all.  
  
I don't realize I'm climbing the tree until the cut is brushing against the bark, and by the time I do I've already made it onto one of the lower boughs. From here, I have the perfect view of the sun making its descent into the western mountains.  
  
And later, when the wind has started to ruffle the grasses to hide my scorch marks, I have the perfect view of Cassidy coming towards me.  
  
My yellow fur makes me easy to spot against the tree, even in this gold light. She walks toward me with a hesitance that I recognize—it's a gait she maintains when she'd come to meet temperamental kids, ones that were on the border of fight or flight. Some small part of me is glad that she recognizes me as something dangerous, as something to be handled with kid gloves. The other part of me wants to shrivel up and die, because it just goes to show how royally I've fucked up.  
  
She sits at the base of the tree and looks right up at me, her ears pulled back and her head tilted. I stare right back at her, my ears perked up.  
  
We say nothing. Just stare, until Cassidy stands up. "I can't climb that tree," she says, looking sheepish. It's as though this is a trait evolution had robbed from her, but ever since I'd met her she'd never been the best climber. Or  _a_  climber. "You can talk from right there, or you can come down."  
  
I don't even know if I can come back down. But I know I don't want to, not yet. "You're not bringing me back there," I say, and turn away. In the light, the leaves have veins. I'd never noticed that before.  
  
"That's not why I'm here."  
  
"Then why  _are_  you here?" I growl. "Arceus knows you're not here to save some... some lost cause—"  
  
"You're  _not_  a lost cause," Cassidy says, the words feather-soft. "You're just... upset."  
  
"I'm not upset," I say instinctively. The words are bitter in my mouth.  
  
Down on the ground, I can hear her sigh. "You don't have to hide from me."  
  
"'M not hiding from you."  
  
"You could at  _least_  stop lying then," she says sharply.  
  
It's not something I ever would have expected her to say—judging by the panicked look on her face, she hadn't expected it either. But the corner of my mouth is turning up as I regard her. "How d'you know."  
  
"You do this... ear-twitchy thing," she says. Before I can question my hearing, she starts to demonstrate with her own ears: the sharp, webbed tips look as though they're about to fly off her head as she stares pointedly at me.  
  
"My ears don't do that," I say. I don't know why I start to laugh at that, but I do.  
  
Cassidy smiles and stands up, ears still twitching. "Stop laughing at me, you know it's true."  
  
But now that I've started I can't stop. They had started as tiny little chuckles at first, because it  _had_  been sort of cute. But the tiny chuckles quickly become little bigger chuckles, then giggles, then full-on belly laughs. I'm laughing and laughing and there are tears streaming from my eyes—and suddenly I can't catch my breath, and I can't breathe, and somewhere I can hear Cassidy calling my name, but the firm edges of the leaves are starting to lose their sharpness and the sky is blending its colors—  
  
And suddenly the tree bucks underneath me, and I'm falling. I'm not laughing anymore; I'm screaming because there's nothing to support me, and I can't grab onto anything, and I can feel electricity build up in my cheeks—  
  
I land hard against something and fall into the dirt. I can't see worth shit with these blurry eyes, but I can feel, and I recognize the thin fur that I rub between my fingers before I feel something long and thick and strong wrap around me. I hear a heartbeat, and I try to take a deep breath, and even though I can't quite steady my breathing, I can tell who's there. My fingers try and grab for long locks of a collar that isn't there—just like last time, Cassidy winces when they brush against the thin webbing. But she doesn't move. She holds me close to her. For a moment I'm reminded of that battle we'd had in front of True's house; she'd been slightly bigger than me then, too, had had me pinned and helpless.  
  
And maybe that's what sparks the electricity. There's no stopping the discharge that lets loose, an independent shock, but while I hear Cassidy's sharp intake of breath I don't feel her moving away. I look up and catch the thin lick of the scar underneath her chin before I see her eyes, and we stare at each other.  
  
She doesn't need to say anything for me to break down right in her hold.  
  
I don't think of the sun that's slowly making its descent in the west, or of my brother, or that last look from Tanza who looked like he was breaking on the inside, or Chris. I don't even think of True, not really, except for a brief almost-thought of  _is she okay will she be okay_. I don't realize I've said it aloud until Cassidy tells me that she's fine, that Minka was with her when she'd left. "They're more surprised than anything," she says calmly.  
  
I scoff. "Were you?" My voice is raw.  
  
"Yes," she admits. "You never... you never talked about it. Your life before the lab, or even before you met me."  
  
Does she know now? Had she ever known?  
  
"Tanza, he... he told us." I wonder if I'd spoken aloud again, or if she can just read my face. She doesn't give me a chance to ask. "And between that and your..." She stops. This close, I can feel her swallow. "Well. We figured it out."  
  
I don't know what I had expected, really. Everyone knew Al, and everyone sure as hell knows Chris. I think I could count on one hand the number of people who knew my connection to the two of them. "Guess the Meowth's out of the bag."  
  
She starts to say, "It's nothing to be ashamed of—"  
  
But I shake my head and sigh, interrupting her. "You know what my brother'd do if he saw me like this?" I ask, as I rub tear stains from the corners of my eyes. "He'd give me this look, like 'you can't be serious right now,'" I say, and narrow my eyes. My ears don't work like his do, but they pull back. One side of my mouth pulls down and the other lifts up, and it just feels  _wrong_.  
  
But for some reason Cassidy is laughing anyway, shaking her head. "That looks ridiculous."  
  
"I'm not doing it right, but it's somethin' like that. But then he'd say something, I dunno," I laugh. "'Stop being such a Combee. A  _boy_  Combee.'"  
  
"What's a—?"  
  
"And then," I continue, absolutely oblivious, "he'd say, 'Fuck, Case, don't do anything else stupid when...'" I pause. "When you have so much goin' for you."  
  
Cassidy's chin finds its way onto the top of my head and I hear myself continue to talk. I have to be careful not to brush against her collar, or to discharge again, but I keep talking. I don't know what I talk about, really; memories of my brother, of my life before I'd met her. She soaks them up with a patient ear and doesn't interrupt, sometimes brushing my back with a tip of her finned tail, sometimes making a quick comment.  
  
Once I've fallen silent, all words spent, she sighs. "He sounds wonderful."  
  
"He was the best," I say, and this time I manage not to cry.  
  
I don't know when we decide that we need to get back to the tiny shack and back to our trainers. But I know that when we do, Cassidy is walking confidently beside me. And I know that I'm still a bit of a mess, and I can feel the places where the fur around my eyes has started to clump together, but I feel better. Lighter on my feet.  
  
For some reason I'm expecting True and Gary to be out in the open, watching for us coming out from our little place in the sunset. They aren't. The only one who stands by the door is Tanza, who regards us with a nod. We don't say anything as we approach the metal door; I have to look away. "Look," I start to say to the ground, "what I said—"  
  
"Chris had to check on something in Celadon," Tanza interrupts. I look up to see him turn to Cassidy, his eyes hard. "The others talked while you were away. You and your team will be returning to Celadon to receive a bit of training before heading to Saffron."  
  
Panic erupts in my chest. My fingers find the short fur on her side. She doesn't flinch from the contact, but she sits and stares at the Electabuzz. "Wait. Wait, now?"  
  
Tanza nods, silent.  
  
I don't look at him in the eyes. I don't think I can handle it. I can't hear anything from the other side of the door. "What about—?"  
  
"Your trainer," he says shortly, "decided not to follow us. Not immediately." Tanza pauses and takes a deep breath. "She said that she and her team needed time to think about the decision."  
  
Versus Gary, who didn't hesitate at all to jump in blindly. I shut my eyes and lower my head.  
  
Without warning, the metal door opens. Gary strides through confidently—alone, so I'm assuming he's recalled his Sandslash. I only see True when I look into the house; she's sitting in the chair Sheldon had been sitting in, her eyes and cheeks blotchy and red. Minka blinks behind the chair, right within view of the door, and looks at me patiently.  
  
"We're getting a head start on them, Cass," Gary says, drawing my attention back to the spiky-haired teen. "You all ready to go?"  
  
I wait for her reply. She doesn't give one, but looks at me cautiously.  
  
My fingers are still trembling on Cassidy's side, and I'm looking at Gary with wide eyes. I can feel them, and I can feel my heart thundering in my chest, because if I couldn't trust my brother with Chris when those two had been a team for years, how in the hell—  
  
"We're going to be okay," Cassidy whispers against me. I'm only just aware of something soft drawing itself over my forehead—if I hadn't looked straight up, I wouldn't have seen the pink slip of Cassidy's tongue flash back into her mouth. "I'm a big girl. And I'm coming back."  
  
I'm too conscious of my cheeks, suddenly much warmer than before, as my mouth tumbles over words. "I—but what if—"  
  
"We're going to be okay," Cassidy repeats, and butts her nose against my cheek. I spark, and this time she pulls away. "I'll be there."  
  
Footsteps echo in the short hall. The four of us look up to see True with her hands tucked underneath her armpits, looking at us shyly. Any confidence she had had from today's gym battle has gone—now she looks less like the sixteen-year-old battler, but a twelve-year-old whose world has shattered right before her eyes.  
  
Just like that, I'm a helpless little kid being pried away from a television screen.  
  
"I can... I can take it from here," True says, rubbing her forearms. She looks up at Gary, blinking shyly. "You better get going. The Champion'll be waiting for you."  
  
If I were a real Starter Pokémon, I'd jump into True's arms right now. If I were a good friend, I'd go over to her and apologize for the hell I've put her through in the past few hours. But my feet feel glued to the ground and I can't move.   
  
"I'm waiting for Cass," Gary says softly, and turns his back on us.  
  
"I'm coming," Cassidy says, before brushing my arms with her tail. "I'll wait for you there."  
  
I'm still looking at True when I respond to her. "How do you know I'll be there?"  
  
"Because I know you," she says simply, and pulls away.  
  
On reflex, I grab for her again. I feel the ripple of her muscles, the short fur, the long powerful slip of a tail. She slides right out of my hands like the water she can now control to follow her trainer, and leaves me with just a sad smile and a nod of her head.  
  
I don't realize that I've started crying again until True picks me up. She holds me close to her chest, cupping my head with a trembling hand. The unsteady beat of her heart ticks the time. I count beats instead of my shaking breaths.  
  
One.  
  
Five.  
  
Twenty-seven.  
  
By the time I've calmed down (forty heartbeats) I've started to become aware of the soft scent emitting from Minka; of Jackson's confused, incredulous stare; of Wilkes's silent hovering above our heads; of the shifting of Clara's wings. I don't even notice Britt at first until I look in the shaded corner of the tiny room, where Britt lurks. I can only assume that Tanza has left with Gary to show him and Cassidy where his trainer has made camp. There had been no one else in the house. We're alone.  
  
That helps me, in a way, because when I finally pull myself out from the depths, I'm not doing it in front of strangers.  
  
True doesn't let go of me, and I make no effort to try and move. I can only assume what's happened here; if everyone's out, if everyone's staring at me, they must know everything. Maybe Minka told them.  
  
"Here's the plan," True begins quietly. "We'll... Gary's going to go with the Champion. He'll go to Saffron and start with the, um, the plan."  
  
"Are we going to follow him?" Wilkes asks.  
  
I look up at True, who's staring at me. I close my eyes. "It... I don't know," I say.  
  
"Supposing we don't," Minka says. "Where would we go to next?"  
  
"Closest city down here is Fuschia," Britt says from the corner. "There's supposed to be a gym there."  
  
"And a Safari Zone," True says. "I thought it might be nice to just... you know. Get away from everything for a bit. Maybe spend some time as an actual team."  
  
"I'd like that," Minka says softly, draping a vine over True's legs.  
  
"We can train too, right?" Jackson asks. "For the gym?"  
  
"Maybe," True says gently.  
  
"Are we just going to ignore this whole Silph thing though?" Britt asks. "The fucking  _Champion_  asked for our help and we're going to blow him off?"  
  
"We need time," Minka stresses. "This isn't the sort of thing you rush into—not if you value your life."  
  
"If Casey wasn't here," Jackson asks suddenly, "would we be doing it?"  
  
The room falls silent. I hear something smack another something—a rustle of feathers; maybe Clara's wing against Jackson's head—as I draw my head toward the others. Five pairs of eyes are staring steadily at me.  
  
"If you're so quick to get out there," I say slowly, "and get yourselves killed—"  
  
"That's not the problem and you know it," Britt growls.  
  
"If nothing else," Minka interjects, "a break from Celadon would do us good. So much has happened here, I think everyone's a little tired. What we need is some down time—"  
  
True's arms are shaking, but her voice is steady, even if it is quiet. "I agree with Minka. We just... need to take a breather. If nothing else, it's a chance to do some training outside of the city. We all can use the opportunity to get stronger."  
  
Britt glares at me for a long moment, then sighs. "Fine. Not like I can argue."  
  
"That sort of attitude will help no one," Wilkes says, threading his clawed fingers together. "I agree with our trainer and Minka."  
  
"Suck-up," Britt scoffs.  
  
"Besides, it's a quick ride from Fuschia to Celadon, or even to Saffron." True turns to Clara and smiles. "You think we can practice flying too?"  
  
Clara nods, lifting her head proudly.  
  
"Can we sleep here?" Jackson asks. "I don't want to go back to that other room."  
  
And I don't want to sleep  _here_ , when it still smells like Chris and Tanza. But judging by the sleepy haze on Minka's face, I'm pretty sure we won't be doing anything else for the rest of the day. If nothing else, I can open a window—  
  
"Tanza actually said we had to clear out by sundown," True says. "But if we can at least get past the cycling road, I think we'll be okay."  
  
By flight, that should only take an hour or two. We might land in darkness, but we have Jackson's tail flame. The others seem to agree to this, and start stretching. With one hand, True recalls everyone but Clara into their Pokéballs—I watch them dissolve into bursts of red, but only Britt meets my eyes with that same fierce look.  
  
True relaxes her grip on me, and it's only now that I've regained myself that I drop down onto the floor. True grabs her bag from the other side of the chair and shoulders it. I'm expecting her to do something, say something, but for a while it's only our breathing and Clara's beak clicking in a wordless question.  
  
"You don't..." True pauses. One hand's gripping the strap of her backpack. "You don't want to go back home, do you?"  
  
When I look up, she isn't looking at me; her eyes are fixated on the metal door. "I mean, if you do, I... I wouldn't blame you. Because you're right, this is dangerous, and if we do this—"  
  
"Why do  _you_  want to do this?" I ask. I'm surprised by how calm I sound. "Because Chris asked—?"  
  
"I don't want," she starts to say, then stops. Normally we get this far, and then leave it at that. We would let the unspoken rest.  
  
But I need to hear it from her own mouth this time. I stand right in front of her, so that I can see her face. "You aren't... you aren't trying to play the hero, right? Or—or be the martyr?"  
  
True closes her eyes, pulls her mouth into a grimace. "I'm not doing it for him."  
  
"Just because Chris is the Champion, that doesn't mean—"  
  
"I'm not doing it for him, either." She starts to move. "It's the right thing to do, and Champion... and Chris knows what he's doing."  
  
Maybe he's changed in ten years, but I can't know, and I can't forget what he'd done.  
  
We can't have been here long enough to have forgotten anything, but just in case I check that dining room table. Nothing. By that point True has already opened the door to a sky that's starting to cloud over.   
  
"It's the right thing to do," True finally says. "The sooner Team Rocket is gone, the better."  
  
She doesn't say anything else on the matter, and this time I don't push her.  
  
Clara has to fight to get out of the house; True has to recall her into her Pokéball and then release her outside. I have to laugh at that, a little bit, because if I don't I'm going to fall back under again. We climb onto Clara and settle on her wide shoulders. I feel True press down against me, to keep me secure; as an extra measure, I grip the creamy feathered collar for purchase.  
  
True wraps her arms around the Fearow's neck, brushing the inside with her thumbs. "Follow the bike path," True says, with only a tiny quiver in her voice.  
  
Clara erupts into a red-painted sky with only a whisper to leave Celadon behind.


	43. Chapter Forty

I open my eyes with a start.  
  
It's only for a few seconds, though—the second I've flinched awake True's arms wrap tightly around me. I don't say anything. I breathe, concentrating on the others sleeping soundly around us. The sun's dribbling in through the leaves, and the grass is swaying with a light summer breeze. Things that should make me feel better, but don't, not when I see Jackson's tailflame burning brightly in the morning light.  
  
"Tell me what you need me to do," True whispers, too soft for any of the others to hear.  
  
I can't answer, I'm shaking too hard and my mouth is too dry. True stands up, securing me in her grip, and walks down the shoreline. I'm only dimly aware of bikes zooming on the steel bridge overhead; in the early morning there aren't many travelers, only workers commuting to work. I focus on the crash of waves beating the shore and True's uneven heartbeat.  
  
I'm still fighting against the flames that are flickering behind my eyes.  
  
"You can tell me anything," she says softly. We sink a little. I look down to see True's shoes resting on sand. We're in the water before I can protest. "You can... I don't know. If you need to talk. I won't judge."  
  
It's something I used to tell her in the beginning. I close my eyes. "I fucked up."  
  
"You let go," she says instead. "That's not the same as... as fucking up."  
  
The laugh is brittle. It takes me a second to recognize it as mine. "Don't think you're supposed to be the strong one."  
  
"I thought you were the one who said that being strong was stupid," she says. When I look up, she's staring at me. "Have you changed your mind?"  
  
I sigh. "I don't know what I think anymore."  
  
She doesn't have anything to say to this. I don't know if I would want to hear what she'd have to say even if she did. We listen to snippets of conversation overhead, and the crying of Pidgeotto circling out at sea.  
  
It's the splash by True's feet that draws me out of the scene for the moment. Britt disappears under the spray just as suddenly as she had appeared. True starts to say something, but there's no pulling her back once she's out past the shore.  
  
She isn't the only one to join us; one by one the others wake from their slumber and come to the shore, preening and stretching. We grab jerky strips and crackers from True's backpack, and snack as we wait for Britt to come back to shore. She pulls out with her ears dripping and seaweed caught in her tail. Jackson laughs from the safety of dry shore, fiddling True's socks between his long claws. "You look silly."  
  
"Consider it a fashion statement," the Wartortle retorts, and starts combing the knots and twigs out of her tail.  
  
True's packed up our makeshift campsite and recalled everyone else into their balls by the time Britt's done pampering. The long silvery locks glisten in the sunlight, and her ears are fluffed expertly. There's hardly a hair out of place. She catches me looking and doesn't respond—it's only when True starts pulling the ball off of her belt that Britt says, "Let me walk."  
  
She looks up at me. I shrug.  
  
We make a small party, at least, and with me on True's shoulder and Britt walking quickly, we make good time. The tall leafy trees become slighter and smaller, making way for grassland and rock faces.  
  
"It'd be easier to fly," True remarks to herself. "Think we should?"  
  
"Walk'll do us good," Britt huffs. "After all that  _sitting_."  
  
The walk  _does_  do us good, and it doesn't take long. We hear the buzzing of bicycles overhead grow into a steadier stream—once or twice I hear the shrieks and excited yells of a battle in progress. I close my eyes. True picks me up and carries me after that.  
  
We only pass one huge sign before officially arriving in Fuschia. I'm still so used to buildings that threaten to touch the clouds overhead that the flatter buildings of Fuschia take me by surprise; I already feel less cramped, and with so much open space, there's room to actually see the sky.  
  
"Clara's gonna love this," I whisper.  
  
True laughs. "Maybe we'll do some flying practice while we're here."  
  
"We hitting up the Pokémon Center first?" Britt asks. "Or can we do some exploring?"  
  
True looks down to my injured paw. "It's up to you. Are you up for it?"  
  
Britt looks up at me with an expectant look. I bristle a little, and look down at my wrapped paw. True had sprayed a potion on it after we'd landed, and it didn't feel any worse. Hardly hurt anymore, not when I was walking and not now.  
  
Not like we were going to get mugged or anything. "Sure."  
  
I alternate between settling on True's shoulder and resting in her arms as we walk around. There are the usual shops and cafes dotted around the open city, but in between are numerous open booths selling fresh produce. True hides under her hair and Britt glares as they call for us, waving their finest wares in the air.  
  
I'm the one who finally goes over to pick up a map of the city—it may be flat but it expands outward. The three of us sit down at one of the cafe tables as True unfolds the map. "Beach down here—"  
  
"Best training area, probably," Britt interjects.  
  
"Minka'll like it," True continues. "And then here's the gym... oh!"  
  
I see it just as True drags her finger over the spot. "Kanto's Safari Zone, just to the north."  
  
"You could catch a teammate there," Britt says. "Just in case."  
  
"That's not how we get new members," I say. "Usually we  _ask_ —or sometimes we take pity on them."  
  
"No, she's right," True says. I nearly get whiplash from looking up at her. "It might be a good idea. And if nothing else, it'll be a fun ride."  
  
Britt sneers at me. I spark a warning, but the Wartortle just laughs.  
  
From where we are, it doesn't take that long to follow the winding path. We're flanked by sales people selling crudely-made dolls of the "Pokémon you can only see in the Safari Zone!" and bottles of water and—  
  
"Cameras! Great cameras, perfect to capture memories!"  
  
The tiny blonde boy shouldn't stick out in the wave of merchants. But maybe that's the reason he does. He must draw True's eye, too, because she wanders over toward him, Britt walking warily behind her. "Cameras?" she asks.  
  
"Yeah, cameras! You only get a couple of chances in the Zone, since the poaching rate's gone up so quickly. But for any of the others, you can use the camera to catch 'em instead! I mean, metaphorically," the kid says. He pushes his huge glasses up his hooked nose and grins. "You can't really... so anyway, whatcha say? Just as expensive as a Great Ball, and lasts a lot longer!"  
  
She looks down at me for a moment. I shrug. "Can't hurt."  
  
"No indeed!" the boy says, and pulls out one of his wares. "Let's see, we've got green, blue, red... maybe a yellow one, for you— _Hey!_ "  
  
Britt's already walked away, clumsily fidgeting with a yellow camera. True's already apologizing and I'm on the ground, rushing up to the Wartortle. "The hell're you doing, Britt?"  
  
"Making sure she's not wasting money on a hunk of junk," she barks, and bats the camera on her belly.  
  
"Do you even know how that works?"  
  
"Don't need to," she says, and checks the screen. I hear little gears work underneath the hard yellow plastic with each press of a button. "So far so good, I guess."  
  
"It's not like it's very expensive, so why—"  
  
"Don't you start giving me that shit," she growls. She knocks the edge of the camera one more time against the lip of her shell, and inspects it again. "Hasn't broken. Good enough."  
  
I turn back to the saleskid; his cheeks are flushed, but there's a satisfied look on his face. "Knew they'd be Wartortle proof."  
  
True hurriedly slips him a few crumpled bills; I almost wonder if she's given him extra, because he bows his head to her as we start walking away. "Enjoy the Safari Zone, miss!"  
  
True grabs the camera from Britt with a sigh. "We could have just asked, you know."  
  
Britt scoffs. "You obviously know nothing about sales people."  
  
"You do?" I ask, brushing against True's ankles.  
  
"You forget Vermilion so quickly?" Britt laughs. "Pick up a few things after a while. That guy was standing on the street, right outside a popular tourist attraction, probably unconnected. They're looking to make a quick buck selling shit. Doubt that camera's gonna last a week."  
  
I shake my head. "If that's the case, why'd you let us buy it?"  
  
The Wartortle shakes her head and laughs. "I wasn't gonna let you, but she paid him. Damage is done."  
  
True groans but says nothing. I glare at Britt as True pockets the camera in her pants. We step in the back of a line that moves smoothly into a low-sitting building, covered with banners promoting the park's main attractions.  
  
At the front of the line, we step up to a dark-painted booth. Behind the glass, a sharp-dressed man blinks down at us. I can't see his lips through his bushy black mustache. "Welcome to the Safari Zone!" he yells. "Will you be joining us for a catching tour, or a scenic tour?"  
  
"Um, catching," True says.  
  
"Excellent! That'll just be five-hundred... Very good!" He slips the bills into a cash register and hands back a large packet. "That has all of your forms, your five Safari Balls, and any other information you need about the park. Oh, but you'll only be able to have one Pokémon out, and they can't be bigger than... well, like that Pikachu there, he can come in."  
  
"Oh, of course the  _cute useless one_  can come in," Britt scowls. "Whatever."  
  
"It's a size issue," the mustached man says apologetically. "Cars are pretty small, and if everyone wanted to bring their Pokémon in... well, you see what I mean."  
  
"No, I understand," True says. She turns to Britt and sighs. "I'll see you when it's over?"  
  
Britt gets a chance to flip the bird before being absorbed into red light.  
  
"Oh, good, that wasn't so bad," the man says. "Well, enjoy your stay in the Safari Zone!"  
  
There's a pleasant hum of voices in the waiting lobby. We find seats underneath a sign that declares "CATCHING TOUR — WAITING AREA," ringed with comfortable chairs. Three of them have already been filled by a grizzled old man and two teenagers. True takes the fourth with a sigh, being careful not to make eye contact. I settle on True's lap as she pulls papers out of the white packet. "Do they expect us to bring all of this in?" she asks, flipping through the loose-leaf pages.  
  
"Should probably fill out the forms," I say, and hand her one of the pens resting on the table. "Whatever they are."  
  
They turn out to be standard "no hold accountable" forms: that the park can't be held liable for any injuries sustained by acts of stupidity, that we won't bring any foreign Pokéballs into the park, that we won't irritate the wild Pokémon we aren't catching. True is scrawling her signature onto the appropriate places as a young girl comes to claim the final chair, hurriedly signing forms of her own.  
  
She's just finished when the bell rings and a cheery woman greets us. The teens and older man don't give us a second glance as they walk towards a waving middle-aged woman; the younger girl walks close to us, and looks up at me with wide blue eyes. "Cute Pikachu," she says.  
  
True smiles. "His name's Casey."  
  
"I'm Grace," she says.  
  
I don't even meet True's eyes as I move from True's shoulder into her arms. Grace extends a fat hand and I lean into it with a chuckle. She laughs, scratching my ears. "He's really friendly," she says.  
  
"He likes kids," True says, and I don't have to look to know that she's smiling.  
  
The two of them hand in their forms to the smiling lady, who points us toward an uncovered caravan. The others are already seated and mingling with each other, taking off jackets and slathering lotion onto their exposed shoulders. There isn't much room, but Grace and True are able to find seats next to each other. "So you're getting your first Pokémon today?" True asks, as she adjusts herself on the small bench.  
  
"Mhm! It's a present for my birthday," she says. "Since I'm ten, my mom said I could come here by myself."  
  
"I'm sure you'll be great," True says, looking down at me.  
  
"She's just gotta be my friend," the girl says sagely.  
  
I have to laugh. Even True's smiling as she asks, "Has to be a girl, huh?"  
  
"Well, yeah," she says, as if it were obvious. "I can't have no stinky boy friends."  
  
"Boys aren't so bad," says a lean boy. He adjusts his large glasses onto his large nose. "It isn't as though girls aren't so—"  
  
Underneath her large hat, a muscular girl interjects with a sharp, "Don't finish that sentence."  
  
"Now kids, let's settle," chirps a jolly woman. She bounces on top of the caravan with an exuberant smile. "Now my name's Lucy, and I'll be your tour guide today. This's Canteen, and he'll be Ball Retriever for you lovely guys and girls!"  
  
I almost miss the small Drowzee who hides in the front seat until he waves a bulky paw and a long trunk in greeting.  
  
"We're going to have lots of fun on the tour today," Lucy continues, "and hopefully we'll be catching some new friends!"  
  
"Friends," Hat Girl scoffs. "Lovely."  
  
"Now if nobody has any questions...? Good? Good! Let's get started then!" the cheery woman trills. "Off we go to adventure!"  
  
The caravan starts with a rumble and bucks underneath us. I grab onto True as we roll onto a dirt trail flattened by several slow-moving cars. Dust is thrown up behind us as we start to pick up speed; True moves closer to the front, where Canteen peers up at us with beady black eyes.  
  
"Now as you may or may not know, the Safari Zone was opened twenty-three years ago by a team of notable figures..."  
  
Only the older gentleman seems to be paying any attention; the others are watching eagerly for the smallest sign of an approaching Pokémon. True follows the trail on her map, which has been folded out in front of us. I let myself relax on the top of her belly, occasionally moving to allow little Grace a peek. She follows along with a fat finger, sometimes pointing up to look at a rock formation—" _That_  one looks like a Sandslash's butt"—and others to babble alongside the tour guide.  
  
It reminds me so much of the kids I had seen grow up in Pallet Town, it hurts.  
  
"And twenty—ooh!"  
  
Our heads turn to see the Tauros lift his head proudly above the sea of grass, his glossy horns gleaming in the strong sunlight. The old man takes one of his Safari Balls out from his pants pocket and expands it—  
  
"Oh," Tour Guide Lucy, "and here's the first attempted catch!"  
  
He's got fantastic aim—the ball sails effortlessly until it makes contact with the Tauros's sweaty back. The strong bull disappears in a flash of white, and the ball falls to the ground.  
  
"And that, little girl," the old man says, "is how it's 'done.'"  
  
The girl with the wide hat looks up, revealing a face littered with acne. "Think again, grandpa," she says, and points to the patch of grass.  
  
All heads turn back to see the Tauros released from the ball, shaking his head angrily. He stamps his hooves on the ground and snorts, "Amateur," before thundering away.  
  
"Well, that was... that was very exciting!" Tour Guide Lucy chirps. "Yes, well, there's always next time, and we're only just beginning! This is actually a good time to remind everyone that once you  _have_  captured a Pokémon, please don't release them in the caravan, we'll have time after to show off..."  
  
I can only imagine how much bigger the entire park is, and how long it would take to travel the entire property. The wind feels good on my face—it's like flying on Clara without the fear of falling a hundred feet or a sudden sharp turn. In the flatter plains I can see a herd of Tauros, bucking their heads and brushing shoulders experimentally. For some reason, it reminds me of home.  
  
"STOP THE CAR!"  
  
I have to grab True's hair to keep from falling to the ground as the truck skids to a halt. True winces as she pulls me back up to seat me in her lap. My eyes are all for Grace, who's leaning so far over the lip of the car that only her knees are firmly in their place.  
  
"You wanna crash us, kid?" Hat Face yells. "What the f—"  
  
"That one, I want that one!"  
  
It takes me a second to see the tiny blue head poking its way through the grass, but when I do my heart skips a beat. The tiny female Nidoran blinks up with wide green eyes, small whiskers twitching. She can't be very old at all; she stumbles out of the grass, and blinks furiously as she walks into a particularly bright patch of sunlight. She isn't very far away from the car, making her a perfect target.  
  
Grace carefully pulls her Pokéball from her pants pockets, and readies her aim—  
  
I hear a cry.  
  
She throws it, and it goes long, falling into a patch of long grass. True's got a hold of Grace now, mostly to keep her from jumping out of the car in pursuit of her fallen ball. She struggles, kicking me once in the face, but True doesn't relent, and eventually is able to muscle the flailing child back into the buggy.  
  
"You just gotta wait there, Nido!" Grace shrieks. "Just—hang on!"  
  
But the tiny Nidoran has already escaped back into the grass, without so much as a goodbye blink.  
  
"Maybe next time, sweetheart," the old Tauros man says. "I think—"  
  
But the Drowzee at the front is already humming something under his breath. I look back out into the grasslands to see a tiny ball whirling towards us. Grace squirms just enough to take the ball in her hands, where it lands with a thud.  
  
{Congratulations. You caught it.}  
  
"Do you know what it was?" the tour woman asks. When the Drowzee shakes his head, she shrugs. "Well, we'll just have to see when we're done! Now if you'll just look to your left, we'll be coming up on the lake in a bit...!"  
  
"I can't let it out now?" Grace asks True.  
  
She shakes her head and laughs. "No. I don't think it's anything too big, if it was able to hide in that grass so well."  
  
"Hopefully it'll be better than that little Nidoran," Nerd Boy says. "Those you can find anywhere. Maybe you got something really good, like a Venonat or something."  
  
"No bugs," she whispers, and holds the ball close to her chest. She seems a bit crestfallen. Part of me hopes that she was able to catch another Nidoran.  
  
The excitement dies down a bit as our other three passengers start scanning the terrain for catches of their own. We pass for a good while without seeing any wildlife—any traces are far away, in dark splotches against the pale sky. It frustrates Tauros Man, who adjusts his bow tie with sharp movements; Nerdy Boy and Hat Girl seem to be in a competition to see who can catch the next Pokémon first.  
  
"Think you're gonna catch something?" I ask True, who's staring out at the rolling savanna passing by.  
  
She shrugs and smiles. "Don't know," she says. "I mean, it'd be great, but I'm having fun right now, you know? Just watching."  
  
"Why didn't we go on the scenic tour then?" I ask.  
  
She laughs and winks at me, teasing the longer pieces of fur on my head. "Just in case."  
  
It's such a trainer's line that I have to laugh a bit. "Whatever."  
  
"So what's everyone here for?" Hat Girl asks suddenly, lounging against the open bed. "Just some adventure, looking for a good time...?"  
  
"I hope to challenge the League next year," Nerdy Boy says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his hooked nose. "I already have a few team members awaiting me back home."  
  
"Then why not just go now?" Grace asks. "If you have the Pokémon?"  
  
Nerd Boy grins. "I'm testing a hypothesis. If I start with a team of six when I begin the challenge, and then only proceed with those six, I figure we'll have a better chance of success than if I just start with one—"  
  
"Stop, shit, stop," Hat Girl yells, "shit, that's a Scyther!"  
  
This time the caravan doesn't screech to a halt; the stop is much more gradual. The Scyther is perched on one of the trees, hissing something underneath its breath as the thin wings beat furiously against its dark green body.  
  
But my attention is focused more on the moving bodies overhead that suddenly drop down. I don't know what the tiny pink things are at first, until I see the exposed white piece of one of the bodies.  
  
Not bodies. Heads.  
  
"Now hang on a sec," the Exeggcute says, "let's not be too hasty—I mean, your claws are way too sharp to get on this—not that you're trying to get  _on_  anything, I just—and did I say claws, I'm sorry, I meant scythes—woah!"  
  
The scythe comes down suddenly; six heads fall onto a lower, thinner branch. One egg threatens to fall before psychic energy picks it up. For a moment I think Canteen has intervened, but that's when I catch the pink glow of the other Exeggcute's eyes.  
  
"If you'll just let me go, see, then we'll just forget this ever happened, I'm sure you can do that— _aaaah!_ "  
  
You'd think that with six heads an incoming Safari Ball would be easily seen, but it startles the Exeggcute just as badly as it does the Scyther, who disappears in a flash of red. One of the Exeggcute heads nearly falls off the branch in delight, but the other five turn toward us immediately. As if on cue, each head starts to bounce. "Hey, thanks! I mean, I probably could have taken—what am I saying, no I couldn't—but still, thanks!"  
  
It's hard to tell which fragment of sentence is coming out of which mouth; they each speak frantically and wildly, as if it's only by a miracle that their words form coherent sentences. I hardly know anything about Exeggcute, only that they're strange Pokémon that seem to be in worlds of their own. So I can't quite fault the old man when he asks, "The hell's up with that thing?"  
  
"The Exeggcute? Oh, don't mind them," Tour Guide Lucy says. "They're funny little things. That one's just being friendly."  
  
"I'm being courteous, not friendly, lady—I mean I  _am_ , you know, being friendly, but it's more of a—a thing. A thing that's going to make me stop talking. Now."  
  
"Funny bunch of eggs," Grace says.  
  
Hat Girl has her hands wrapped around her new prize when she sneers. "Idiotic. Why some people even think of training those things, I have no idea."  
  
"Each Pokémon has its own merits," Tour Guide Lucy says. "Well, if no one's going to go after, then let's...?"  
  
But just as she's finishing her thought, True stands up. Grace looks up with a smile on her face; I match her expression as True asks, "What's your name?"  
  
"My name?" all six heads ask. Eyes narrow and heads tilt. "Well I don't have one—I mean, sometimes we have one, but it's never a guaranteed thing, you see—but why are you even asking?"  
  
True doesn't reply. Her hand comes slowly to her pocket, and for a moment I think she's about to take another picture. When she pulls the Safari Ball out and holds it in front of her, I chuckle and nod.  
  
"Is that—that's what I think it is, right? You're allowed to catch me here if you want, it's in a legal catching area—and if you could do it soon, that'd be great."  
  
I catch the faintest trace of True's smile, the smallest "Okay," before she flings the ball. It lands a direct hit on one of the eggs. For a moment I wonder if we need to throw five other Pokéballs to grab the other heads, but the energy sucks all of them up all the same, in a flash of white.  
  
Grace laughs as Canteen brings the ball back into True's waiting hands. The Hat Girl scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Have fun training that thing." She blinks. "Those things."  
  
"Ah, but is it plural?" Nerdy Boy asks. "We very explicitly heard it refer to itself as 'I,' rather than a collective 'we,' so in that sense..."  
  
I tune them out. It's easy with the wheeze of the engine and the breeze that blows over our faces. True seems content enough with her catch, because she smiles when she meets my eyes. I lean into the touch and settle back onto her lap. "Any reason why you caught that thing?"  
  
"I had a good feeling," she says contently.  
  
Nerdy Boy catches an energetic Venonat, and the old man finally does manages to catch his Tauros, after using all of his balls. I don't pay much attention to the conversation that bubbles between all of them. I sit there in True's lap and enjoy the heat as we roll back into the building.  
  
"This is the end of the thing, right?" Grace asks, holding her ball fast in her hands.  
  
Hat Girl adjusts her wide hat and laughs. "Sure is. Thanks for not being a snooze fest."  
  
"Yes, it was quite the educational experience. Thank you," Nerdy Boy says. When we finally roll to a stop he's the first to step off the caravan; Hat Girl follows soon after, releasing her Scyther in a flash of white.  
  
I look away from the initial meeting to see Lucy looking down with a smile. "You want to see your new friend hun? Go ahead!"  
  
Grace needs no further encouragement, and throws her ball high up in the air. The white light materializes into something small, with huge ears—  
  
A horned head bucks, and a purple body leaps into Grace's open arms.  
  
"Those are poisonous!" I yell, suddenly wide awake.  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt her!" the purple Pokémon yells. "I'm old enough to keep my poison away if I wanna."  
  
Grace cocks her head and blinks. "But this is a... this is a boy!"  
  
"He can't help that," True says gently. "But he seems to like you at least. And he's pretty cute."  
  
The small Nidoran blinks huge blue eyes up at his new trainer and laughs, wiggling his large ears. Grace adjusts her hold on him and smiles, scratching her finger on the top of his horned head. "Well... he doesn't smell at least. That's good."  
  
"And he'll grow up strong," the old man says behind us, adjusting his bow tie. "So long as you take good care of him."  
  
"Well, yeah!" Grace says. "I think... I think I'll name you Sam."  
  
Sam blinks once, then nods. "Sam. Sam, I think I can do that."  
  
I can hear Sam's excited squeaks and Grace's cheery one-sided conversation as they disappear down the dark hall back to the lobby. The old man nods once at us before following the rest of us.  
  
True sighs happily, looking down at the ball. "Think I'll let the rest of the team meet him."  
  
"Hopefully in the Pokémon Center," I yawn, stretching my muscles out.  
  
It's a short walk from the caravan to the lobby, but it's one spent laughing. She's going to burn from the sun exposure, but so long as we stay in the shade, we should be alright. True doesn't seem concerned at all. "We'll go to the Center and get some sleep," she laughs. "I just need to put... put..."  
  
When she stops talking, I open my eyes. When her arms start to shake, I'm immediately alert and looking around the lobby. The scenic videos are still playing on the television screens—we'd know if it were breaking news. No men in black no Chris no Tess—  
  
But there's a large woman at the entrance of the Safari Zone, with her hands gripping the long strap of her purse. Unlike the others, who are chatting excitedly about their potential catches or the sights they'd seen, she seems uncomfortable: her dark eyes move from display to display hurriedly, and she fidgets. It's only when she meets True's eyes that she visibly relaxes.  
  
"Tell me that's not who I think it is," I breathe. Maybe I'm still dreaming.  
  
But True's shaking her head and laughing, incredulous, as she makes her way closer to the entrance. From a distance, you wouldn't give the two women a second glance. It's only closer that you start to see the similarities in their figures, in the shapes of their faces. When they're inches away from each other, True smiles, adjusting the straps on her shirt. "Mom?"  
  
Inza Retune offers me only a slight smile of greeting before wrapping True up in her arms, holding her close. True returns the hug with one arm, and then the other as I squirm my way back onto the ground.  
  
"Why aren't you back home?" True asks, as they pull away from each other. "And how are you  _here_?"  
  
"I'll explain everything when we get back to the hotel," Inza says. "And your skin is hot, we'll get some lotion on you."  
  
" _Mom_ ," True whines, even though she's smiling.  
  
"Don't you start," she says. "For now, tell me everything."


	44. Chapter Forty-One

If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be having a picnic with one of my best friends, her mother, and our battling team, I would have thought they'd lost their damned minds. If I was in the mood for it, maybe I would have entertained the idea a little bit: a brilliant summer day spent eating fruit along the beach, sharing stories or strumming on a guitar. Never with other Pokémon. Not with a gym badge I'd won for us pinned securely in True's badge case.  
  
But I only have to stare out over the cliff to see waves crashing on the pale shores to confirm that yes, this is a real thing that's happening. Dark clouds are starting to move in over the sea, and there's a sharp breeze blowing over us, but even though it means we have to move  _just right_  on the hard park bench to keep all of our food from flying away, I don't mind it—it's a welcome break from the humidity. Down on the beach there are trainers practicing with their Pokémon; according to one of the employees at the local grocery store, it was the most popular place for training for the later gyms. Once in while we'll hear sharp commands and see flashes of electricity or fire, but for the most part it's fairly peaceful.  
  
Apparently Inza had wanted to visit a friend in Fuschia when she'd gotten off the phone with her daughter. She'd been coming back from a spectator tour at the Safari—"Since when have you been into that?" True had asked, which had gotten her a playful nudge—when she'd seen us, and had decided to treat us to a good meal. Now we were soaking up sun and relaxing, digesting food as True and Inza swapped stories. No immediate gym battle, no Team Rocket, no drama, no nothing.  
  
I can't remember the last time we'd been free to just  _relax_ , without anything hovering over our heads.  
  
"So then Jackson—Jackson  _no_ , stop burning the grass—"  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
"—But he just takes down her Vileplume, and he's exhausted, but  _Mom_  it was just so amazing, even though it was—I mean I was terrified. It was so hot, you probably would have hated it, but it was—and after! After, the crowd was cheering for me, and for him, and it was... I can't even put it into words."  
  
"It sounds like you did well," True's mother says, nibbling on her sandwich.  
  
True's smile threatens to break her face in half; I shoot her a thumbs-up. As she pulls her badge case out from her backpack, I lean over to sneak a peek; the Pewter and Cascade badges need some polishing, but the Rainbow badge is still gleaming. True hands the badge case to her mother and grabs another shoestring potato from the container. "I mean, I have four badges! And I never thought, you know, that I'd be able to do that. But I did, and it's… it feels so good."  
  
Though she takes the case, in her hands, she doesn't look at the small trophies; Inza's eyes are focused solely on her daughter. "You got a lot farther than many people thought you would. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," she says, brushing her thumb over her daughter's cheek.  
  
I can practically hear Britt's eyes rolling from the ledge side. "Any chance we can actually head down there to fight? Instead of sitting here gossiping?"  
  
"It's been a while since they've seen each other," Minka tuts from underneath the bench. "Lighten up."  
  
"They seem vocal," Inza says, taking a long sip from her soda. "That means they're healthy, right?"  
  
"It means they can't shut up," I mutter under my breath. Minka scoffs, but True's laughing.  
  
"Britt—she's the Wartortle, Mom—she just really likes battling."  
  
"When I get to do it!" she yowls.  
  
"At least she's not wandering off," True's mother says. "That's a good thing."  
  
The only reason she doesn't is because Clara's watching a few feet away, clicking her long beak. Britt flips Clara off and turns back to the beach. I feel the electricity before I hear the clap and see the flash of the battler down on the shore.  
  
"We do need to practice," True admits. "But maybe we should get to the Pokémon Center first."  
  
"If we hurry," Minka says, "we can get our room, and then come back."  
  
"We just ate though," True says. "Maybe that isn't the best idea."  
  
I hear Inza whisper, "They can't still be hungry," under her breath. I sigh before turning back to Britt. "Are you just being a pain in the ass, or do you need to go down there?"  
  
"You're asking my permission this time?" Britt scoffs. "Are we actually going to do it, or are we switching plans  _again?_ "  
  
I feel True's eyes on me, and scowl as I stand up. "Stop being such a baby and—"  
  
But Minka moves from underneath the table before I can finish my sentence—slowly, but with a confidence I haven't seen in her for a while. Her ferny leaves have perked up, and her head is held high. "It seems like a reasonable compromise."  
  
"Or another plan gone south before I can cry foul," Britt scowls.  
  
Jackson must see something in Minka's eyes, because he edges away from Britt cautiously. The only reason I see a flash of green is because I'm focusing on the exchange, but it doesn't connect as an attack until I hear the SNAP of the vine against Britt's hard shell, her exclamation of surprise as she turns around to face Minka.  
  
"You fucking did not just—"  
  
"If you're so impatient," Minka says calmly, "then perhaps you should battle me."  
  
I hear Inza shift and ask what's going on, but no one answers. True doesn't even turn to face her mother; her mouth has dropped open the same way mine has. Jackson's awkwardly standing to the side, unsure of what the hell to do. Clara flutters over to stand beside him, growling low in her throat.  
  
The only real sound is Britt's surprised laughter as she leans forward, her tail bristling. "Show me what you've got then, grandma."  
  
"Your move, sweetheart," Minka says, withdrawing her vine.  
  
True looks down at me with wide eyes. "Should I do something?"  
  
I don't know if it's because I'm sleepy and warm, or if I know that True will step in if something goes wrong, but I whisper, "Don't do anything unless someone gets hurt."  
  
From the corner of my eye, I see her nod. "First blood," she calls out. I wonder if Minka and Britt can even hear her.  
  
Minka makes the first move, firing off a storm of leaves. Britt jumps off the ground and retreats into her shell—she spins so quickly that the razor-sharp leaves bounce off the hard surface, landing on the grass. When Britt reemerges she hardly looks worse for wear, and fires off a strong water gun that lands directly in Minka's face.  
  
Jackson's sharp intake of breath is the only thing I hear, until Minka shifts in the grass. I'm expecting an attack—but the only thing she does is wipe the water off with a vine and yawn, shaking her head.  
  
"Thank you for the shower, dear," Minka says, rolling her shoulders, "but I thought we were battling."  
  
It takes me a second to recognize the first laugh as my own, the satisfied grunt as Clara's.  
  
"Then make your move," Britt growls. "Unless you're too coward to really fight."  
  
Minka doesn't, at first. She roots herself onto the ground, whipping her vines along the dirt and grass. One long, dark shoots right at Britt, snaking just over the grass—Britt jumps off to the side, easily missing the attack. But blended in with the dark grass, the second vine is able to sneak up on the Wartortle. With a grunt, Minka grabs a thick blue leg and hoists the screeching Wartortle up.  
  
"Now listen here," Minka says, staring directly into Britt's defiant eyes. "I'm tired of you acting all high and—ouch!"  
  
If I'd been holding her and she'd bitten me, I would have let her drop too. Britt's glaring as she fires a spray of water onto the ground to soften her landing, and sticks it perfectly. She lowers her head and charges, arms pulled back into her shell—  
  
Minka's bulb starts vibrating, releasing a dark purple powder. It creeps up and inches its way all around her. Britt lands her attack right up against Minka's side, dislodging the Ivysaur from her stance, and immediately jumps out of the way—she rolls along the oblong lip of her shell a foot or two away before coming to a stop, awkwardly standing.  
  
"The hell kind of powder was that?" Britt sneers, blowing bubbles into her clawed paws. As she's scrubbing her face, Minka readjusts herself and releases another flurry of leaves.  
  
Britt doesn't have enough time to move from the oncoming attack. They strike this time, catching in Britt's ears and knocking against her pale belly. Britt grabs the ground to minimize the blow, but still skids a good foot and a half, rubbing her face in the grass. She stands up, snarling, and fires yet another spray of water.  
  
This time, it hits Minka's bulb.  
  
Minka bows low to the ground and moans, shaking her head repeatedly. True half-stands beside her mother, quietly watching with wide eyes.  
  
"Hit too a sore spot," Britt pants, "for ya, grandma?"  
  
Minka huffs and stands up again. "A lucky shot. But how much longer can you stand?"  
  
"How much… longer can  _you_  stand," Britt sneers, "before…"  
  
And without any warning, Britt falls to the ground.  
  
Jackson looks as though his whole world has flipped, and runs over to her. I'm over to Minka as quickly as my paws can carry me, True in hot pursuit with a bright orange bottle. I meet Minka's eye as I stand in front of her, placing my paws on her cheeks. "The hell was that," I laugh.  
  
"An old dog," the Ivysaur pants, "showing off a few tricks." But she's smiling as she makes her way slowly toward the others, who are staring at a loudly snoring Britt.  
  
"She's just asleep, Jackson, she's going to be okay," True is saying, and Jackson is nodding his head even though his brow is knitted with frustration.  
  
"It should wear off in a little bit," Minka says. "She'll be just fine after a stay in the Pokémon Center."  
  
"Perhaps we should get going," Inza says, a slight tremor in her voice. She's already packed up our trash in a bag, and holds in one hand; the other finds True's and tugs, away from the beach and the scene of the battle.  
  


* * *

  
The only trace I have left of the cut from the window is a pencil-thin scar that I have to really look for to see. It had been a fast heal—a quick scan for the others, and a routine once-over for me. I'm rolling out the kinks in my neck when we're all handed back to True, who stands in front of the desk with her mother.  
  
The nurse, a bright-haired woman with an infectious grin, gives True the once over. "So that's one quick heal for everyone, then, and a room reservation for… how many people did you have staying?"  
  
"Just one," Inza says. "I have a room at the hotel nearby, I'm just… visiting with my daughter."  
  
"Well if you're staying for very long," the nurse says, "I know there's going to be a surfing competition soon. If you have any Pokémon who can carry you across the water, you're welcome to participate!"  
  
We only had one Pokémon who could move well in the water, and I doubted that she'd be in the mood to carry anyone. I don't think I'm alone, because True's doubtful expression matches mine when we look at each other. "Not right now, no," True says.  
  
"Alright, then! Stairs to the room are just around the corner—room number four, you should be fairly close to the entrance. Here's your keys," she says, and hands over a pale purple key card. "We hope you have a great stay, and welcome to Fuchsia!"  
  
I'm perched on True's shoulder as we make the climb up to the room. The air conditioning is already on, and it still feels stuffy. I jump onto the dark purple duvet as True pulls back the curtains that block out the dark skies. "Maybe it'll storm tonight," she whispers, before turning to her mother. "You're sure you don't want to stay here tonight? I can sleep in a chair, or—"  
  
"Honey, I'm fine," she says, waving a hand. "The hotel's just a short walk away from here, and I can dry off."  
  
"Okay," she says. "Well, I'm still kind of sweaty from the safari ride… is it okay if I take a shower? Casey can just stay with you here, he won't be any trouble?"  
  
She doesn't answer right away, and when she does, she doesn't look at me. "That's fine. Take as long as you need."  
  
"Seriously. Enjoy the shower," I tell her, and smile.  
  
She gently places her belt on the corner table, and slips into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.  
  
It would only take me one hand to count the number of times True's mother and I have been left alone in a room together; most of my time spent with True had been away from her house, out in the lab or at school or in the small woods leading to the sea between Pallet and Cinnabar. The few times I'd gone into her house, she'd given me a wide berth. I'd asked True about it once, and she had said that she just wasn't a Pokémon person. It didn't make much of a difference to me—some people are, and some people aren't—but it makes this silence awkward as hell.  
  
I fidget on my end of the bed and she sits uncomfortably on her end; neither one of us looks at each other. It's a good opportunity to look at the dark patterns on the pale purple curtains, I suppose, and on the matching duvet.  
  
"Never been in one of these before," Inza says quietly to herself. "Nicer than I expected."  
  
I don't turn to face her, and she doesn't say anything to me. Instead, she grabs the television remote and turns it on. After lowering the volume, she starts to flip through channels—horrific reality show, poorly produced documentary, a media blitz.  
  
She pauses when she hits the local news; the Chief of Celadon Police is standing at a podium, her thin mouth just barely moving as she answers questions.  
  
I think I expect Inza to turn the channel. She doesn't—instead, after listening for the shower water running, she turns up the volume.  
  
"We've been combing the city for the past few days to make sure Team Rocket has left. The City of Celadon now has complete control of the Game Corner, and is working with the Indigo League to make sure any Pokémon stolen as prizes will be returned to their rightful owners… it's still early in the investigation, but we have confidence that we were able to catch a number of grunts from the organization."  
  
I can never hear the reporters' questions, because they don't know how to talk or they all blend into each other. She answers them matter-of-fact. "We are using trained ghost-types. I will not identify the trainer who stormed the building. It was not the main building, but the warehouse where they stored Pokémon to be sold as prizes."  
  
One of them must catch the Chief's attention though, because she says, "I'm not at liberty to discuss the matter of Tess Fargone, but rest assured everything is being looked into—"  
  
"Tess Fargone isn't going to be pinned with anything," Inza sighs, and shuts the television off with a decisive click. "She practically owns everything except the university, and I'm sure she's working on that next."  
  
I wouldn't doubt it.  
  
"I just hope nothing serious happens while True's around," she says. She goes silent for a while, but when I turn my head toward her, I'm surprised to see her staring at me. "She's been okay, though?"  
  
What would I even say to her? "She's been having attacks when Team Rocket is involved"? "As long as her father's still away she'll be safe"? "The Indigo Champion asked her to be part of a team to disband the organization"? There's nothing to say, and even if she could understand me, I don't know if she'd believe it.  
  
Instead, I shrug.  
  
She grips her hair and sighs, looking away from me. "I just... need to make sure she's safe. You can understand that, right? Wanting to keep her safe?"  
  
I do more than understand. I nod.  
  
"And when she's on this journey... I worry," she sighs. "But she seems to be doing okay."  
  
The water shuts off. Inza doesn't speak to me again, hardly even moves until True emerges from the shower. She's still tucking her hair into a fluffy white towel as she sits with us on the bed, flushed and warm to the touch. "Looks like you guys were okay with each other," she says, flopping on the bed. "Did you do anything fun?"  
  
"True, honey," her mother says, "we need to talk."  
  
True's fingers have found the back of my head; I lean into the touch and eventually move so she doesn't have to stretch so far. "Sure," she laughs. "You change your mind about staying?"  
  
"I... lied to you, about coming over here. I don't have any friends in Fuchsia," she says "I came here just to visit you."  
  
"That doesn't seem like it's anything bad," True says, flipping onto her side. "Was it because you missed me?"  
  
She doesn't answer. True stops scratching. "Is everything okay?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"I got a call," Inza says slowly. "From the Viridian City jail."  
  
And I swear, the room temperature drops twenty degrees.  
  
"Dad still calls you?" True asks, growing wary.  
  
"Every so often," her mother admits. "Usually when you were in school."  
  
True doesn't answer right away. I look down to see her picking at one of the loose threads in the duvet. "I still don't understand why you're telling me this," she says slowly.  
  
"He didn't tell me much," Inza says, "and I think it was because he wasn't allowed to. But they offered him parole if he consented to some sort of test…"  
  
I could only guess what sort of test they had performed, but if they were interrogating a former Team Rocket admin, I had an idea of what they were looking for.  
  
"Honey, he passed it."  
  
Had this been some sort of back-up plan for the League, just in case we had decided to back out from the attack? Were we not supposed to have found it out?  
  
I hear bits and pieces of Inza's explanation: that he'll be coming home with a tracking bracelet; that he's not allowed to own or go near Pokémon; that he'll have a job where he can be monitored up close and personal by League officials. He won't be allowed to visit Celadon or Saffron, or Pewter, or any other major city suspected of Team Rocket involvement.  
  
I hear it, but I don't understand it, because I'm looking up at True, who still hasn't spoken. She may only be shaking a little bit, but I can tell from the vacant look in her eyes that she's starting to shut down; I'm in her lap before she can even start grabbing for me, pressed up firmly against her soft belly.  
  
"I thought that this was a conversation that was best had face-to-face," Inza finally says, and even if it's a good idea it isn't the  _best_ , and I want to tell her this but I can't. Inza's sun-darkened hand hovers over True's exposed knee, still flushed from the shower; I grab her hand with my paws, trying not to spark.  
  
Inza's hand still hovers, not settling. "I have no doubt that you can go all the way. But if you can't… you need to understand, True—"  
  
"Get out."  
  
Inza's hand falls. "True, baby, just—just listen—"  
  
"I don't need to li—listen anymore, you're—you don't think I can do it," she growls, "you  _never_  thought I could. A-And now you come here, and—and let him back  _in_ , how could you—?"  
  
"He's family, True! Yes, he screwed up, but if he could pass that—that Specter test—"  
  
If Agatha was involved, did that mean Chris knew?  
  
"You don't just  _screw up_ , not when you work for  _Team Rocket!_ " True yells. "You—You know what they do to people, a-and to Pokémon!"  
  
"Honey, if the League's releasing him—maybe we were  _wrong_ —!"  
  
I don't know how I suddenly end up on the bed, or how True's standing up, or how the towel fell from her hair to reveal a tangled mess underneath. And I can't respond, not quickly enough, as True whimpers, "Y-You need to get out, and—and just go home."  
  
Her mother's on her feet too, now, arms open. "Look, you just need to calm down and we'll settle this—"  
  
"It's already settled!" True yells. "You're bringing him home, and I—I don't get a say—"  
  
"When you come home, yes, you will," Inza yells back.  
  
Not if.  
  
When.  
  
When something so bad happens that True's convinced to give up her journey and come home, back to Pallet, just like so many kids have before her.  
  
True catches it too. Inza doesn't, not until she sees True taking steps away from her, but doesn't say anything to correct herself. True's stepped so far back that she's back beside the table, where the belt of balls rests.  
  
"Look, just... just calm down, alright?" Inza asks. "Just—we'll work something out, and by the time you come back—"  
  
"I'm not going back," she says softly, and grabs her belt. "I'm going to do this, without you or—or Dad."  
  
Inza takes a step forward. "Just think about this for a second—"  
  
"I'm going to go train," she continues, clicking the belt on. "And when I get back, you need to not be here anymore."  
  
"Listen to me—"  
  
"Don't tell him you saw me," True finishes, and opens the door.  
  
She doesn't have to ask me to come; I jump off the bed and fall in step beside her. True grabs the backpack she'd set on the bathroom counter and takes one last look at her mother.  
  
Thunder rumbles outside as the door clicks shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three major rewrites and one week later...!
> 
> This chapter--specifically the second half--was one that I knew that I needed to write; but I've been terrified of writing it for a very long time, because we start addressing a lot of the issues that have either a) been in the run from the beginning and are only being addressed now, or b) acting as set-up for the rest of the run. I would much rather have taken the time to get this chapter as close to perfect as I could, than deliver a sub-par product on time. So first off, thank you for waiting so patiently! And I hope you enjoyed that Britt/Minka battle. Sometimes Britt needs to remember her own advice, eh? ;)
> 
> I decided very early on into the writing process that Casey was going to be the POV character, because his journey is important and one that, I feel, is fascinating to write from, in terms of being not just a Pokemon, or even a starter Pokemon, but one who's weary of battling. That was important to me. But this does not make this story any less of True's story. This is where we start really getting an insight into True's motivations for journeying, as well as the inner workings of Team Rocket--and, more personally, to Richard Fargone in general.
> 
> So yeah, stay tuned! And sorry for such a short break between angstings. I'll try to do a better job of sprinkling out breaks throughout the Saffron arc, lol.


	45. Chapter Forty-Two

We come back to an empty room.  
  
There's no handwritten note, no "I'm so sorry"—Inza Retune has left no trace of her being here, not one hair on the bed, not even an imprint of her body on the pillows and duvet. I can only smell the rain waterlogged in True's hair and my own fur when I settle on the bed, and when I shake myself dry there's only the crackle of static electricity.  
  
We hadn't made it far—the heavens had opened as soon as we'd gotten to the local Poke Mart, where we had stocked up on medical supplies and freeze-dried jerky and Pokémon food. It doesn't seem as though, only hours ago, we'd been feasting on sandwiches and apples and plenty of fruit. Now, with the sun behind the western mountains and lightning flashing overhead, it seems as though it's been any other day. True had nearly tripped on the wet tile of the Pokémon Center lobby trying to get up the stairs; now I'm thankful for the pale carpet and the thick towels on the sink shelf.  
  
When it becomes clear that there is no getting hold of Inza, True kicks her shoes off and takes off her wet clothes and runs another towel through her soggy hair. She doesn't meet my eye before collapsing into one of the chairs tucked in the corner. She curls up into herself, facing away from the front door or the television. She doesn't meet my eyes as I jump on top of her, rubbing a paw against her wet forearm. "You want to take a bath?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"It'll make you feel better—"  
  
"Do you think I can do it?"  
  
She doesn't have to say anything more, because I get it. But it's because I know what she's asking, and what she wants me to say, that I don't answer, not right away.  
  
She digs her fingers into her hair, and I hear them scrape across her scalp. "Because if you don't think, if you don't think I can—"  
  
"I'm not saying you can't."  
  
Pause.  
  
"The most important thing is," I say softly, "do  _you_  think you can do it?"  
  
She doesn't answer at first, only grips my scruff, hard.  
  
And then, quietly, I hear her. "I don't know."  
  
And we don't say anything after that for a while, just curl up with each other on that cramped chair. I don't move, not until True's arms hang so limp around me and her breathing has slowed down that I wonder if she's fallen asleep. She hasn't, and looks at me with watery eyes. "I just… don't understand how she could choose him."  
  
I don't know enough about Inza to make judgments about her, and I don't know enough about Richard to know what kind of person  _does_  what he does, or how he can still be cared for by a wife with a daughter who shivers in fear at the thought of him. I don't know if there was anything about him that  _made_  him so frightening. She hadn't mentioned him much before the incident, but I don't remember her disliking him.  
  
Then again, maybe that's the root of the problem.  
  
"I think," I say slowly, "that you need to focus on you right now. Not anyone else."  
  
"Not even you guys?" she whispers, a hint of a smile in the question.  
  
"Well, the less you can get caught up in Britt's temper tantrums, the better," I say. "I mean, yes take care of the rest of the team, but just… do things for you. Okay?"  
  
True doesn't say anything else. I jump off of her when she finally begins to peel her clothes off. She hangs them to dry over the shower, and runs some water to splash over her face. After pulling on a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, she takes each Pokéball off her belt and taps each button. Minka, Clara, and Jackson look up at me, wide-eyed and surprised. Wilkes hovers above us, looking around quizzically.  
  
True's hand rests over the two other Pokéballs on the belt. We still hadn't placed our newest teammate into the box, or let him out. She hesitates, but moves her fingers away from the mottled green-and-brown Pokéball to rest over Britt's. She takes one long look at Minka before setting the belt down. She doesn't look back as she curls up underneath the covers.  
  
If Minka's noticed it, she doesn't let us know. Instead she turns her head up toward True, stretching at the end of the bed. "Your mother didn't stay for very long," Minka says.  
  
"She didn't need to," True says softly, and climbs under the covers.  
  
"She didn't seem very friendly," Jackson grunts, stretching his arms high above his head. "She gave us food, but—"  
  
He stops when he sees True's face fall, and lets his arms drop to his sides. "You're sad again?"  
  
He'd called her that in Celadon, too. Why is it now that I'm only just remembering that?  
  
"A little," True mumbles, as I hop back into the small space of her lap.  
  
There isn't much room on the bed to begin with, and with Minka at the foot and me by her head and in her arms, there's hardly enough room for True. Jackson does the next best thing and comes up to the side of the mattress, fitting himself in the space between the bed and the wall. True's fingers find the ridges of his eyes, and he hums, leaning into the touch. Clara leans her head in the small space between the bed and Minka, gently pressing the end of her beak against True's thigh.  
  
"Perhaps what we need is just a distraction," Minka says, settling beside her on the bed. "Would you like to hear a story, dear?"  
  
When she extends one dark vine, True takes it in her free hand and holds tight; I'm in her other arm, held fast to her chest. It's a short pause before she nods. Minka, smiling, closes her eyes and begins.  
  
"Let's see. You know, of course, of the three Great Birds of legend. Some say they're simply very rare Pokémon, who just so happen to be quite powerful. And others say that they're the embodiment of the elements themselves. Very powerful, very rare; I'm sure anyone who saw them would say so themselves.  
  
"There was Articuno, who could use ice to freeze the wingtips of its opponents, or make it so cold that movement was impossible. And there was Zapdos, who could summon lightning to strike down its enemies, and summon so much rain you couldn't see two inches in front of your face. And then there was Moltres, who could breathe fire and summon the sun, make it so hot you could hardly want to move.  
  
"Well, a very long time ago, the three Great Birds wanted to decide which one of them was the  _strongest_ , the best out of all of them. Each of them thought they were the strongest of the three. So they decided to have a battle, and whoever won would be the greatest of the Great Birds.  
  
"It quickly escalated from a friendly battle to all-out war, and needless to say it was devastating to behold. The people and Pokémon of Kanto were so afraid of the great clash, and they feared the wellbeing of themselves and of their region. Several brave humans and Pokémon tried to stop the fighting, but died in the attempt—they just weren't strong enough to stop them. What had been a battle to determine the greatest of the Great Birds had shifted into a three-sided war to determine the  _only_  Great Bird.  
  
"That," Minka says softly, "was when Mew came."  
  
It's only when Minka has stopped talking that I realize everyone is staring at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. True's leaning in, her eyes clear and focused, as Wilkes lowers himself closer to the other side of the bed.  
  
"What's a Mew?" Jackson asks, leaning further into True's touch.  
  
"A very special Pokémon," Minka says. "Very small, but also very powerful. Perhaps one of the most powerful Pokémon to ever exist."  
  
"Can we see it?" he asks, tilting his head.  
  
Minka shakes her head, chuckling. "No one's seen Mew in a very, very long time. There isn't even a photograph of her—just drawings. And many, many stories."  
  
Jackson sighs and nods. "Well, what did Mew do?"  
  
"Mew heard about the commotion from the far-off jungles on a distant island, and raced toward the battle. And as she flew, she saw the destruction the Great Birds had wrought—most of the forests had burned down to nothing, and most of the water had either been vaporized or frozen over. Kanto was in shambles. Most of the people and Pokémon had fled the region, for their own safety; the few that had stayed, too stubborn to move, hardly noticed her arrival.  
  
"And though Mew was saddened by the destruction the Great Birds had wrought, she could not bring herself to harm them once she arrived. She could have," Minka adds, "because she was a great and skilled battler, perhaps stronger than all three of the Great Birds combined. But these were her friends, and she knew that, deep in their hearts, they did not mean to cause this destruction. So she tried talking with them.  
  
"But they were so blinded in their quest for power and glory that they didn't listen—perhaps they couldn't hear her, or they had forgotten who she was. In either case, each attacked her as though she were some great foe. And she still didn't fight back. She tried to calm them, instead, first with words and then with song.  
  
"It didn't work, though. The birds were so wrapped up in their battle that all they cared for, all they knew, was battling. So, left with no other choice, she used her power to separate the Great Birds—she sent one to the western mountains, one to the cliffs on the eastern sea, and one to the rocky islands in the south. And when they had vanished, she helped to heal the land of its greatest scars. The people and Pokémon of Kanto returned, and when they saw what Mew had done to help heal the land, they asked her for her continued support. But she could not—she was exhausted, her powers drained. So Mew vanished, to regain her strength. No one has seen her since."  
  
There had been plenty of stories about Mew—the Creator, the Healer, the Pokémon who was said to be the ancestor of all Pokémon. The school had had a picture of her once, racing across dark-green grasses toward a misty lake far in the horizon. Had that been her leaving Kanto, or rushing to save it?  
  
"But what about the birds?" Jackson asks, drawing me from the memory.  
  
Minka lowers her head onto her paws, and closes her eyes in thought. "Well, when they saw how much they had hurt everyone, they decided to isolate themselves where Mew had sent them. They may have wandered, as was their fancy, but they each decided to stay as far away from each other as they could, so that they wouldn't hurt the land or each other again. In isolation, they learned control of their powers… and they learned peace."  
  
Clara warbles low in her throat, eyes closed. It's the only sound, save for the crackling of thunder outside, until Wilkes starts softly clapping. "A tale well told," Wilkes says, lifting his head up. "Where did you first hear it?"  
  
"A traveler," Minka says, and meets my eye. "He sang the story, too. I'm not nearly so talented, but I think you got the gist of it."  
  
I chuckle as I nuzzle True's chest. This close, I can feel her smile as she loosens her hold on me. Minka's vine extends to touch True's cheek, and she smiles. "Did that help?"  
  
True nods, wiping away a few tears. "Yeah. Yeah," she says again, and sniffles. "Thank you."  
  
"So they never saw each other again?" Jackson asks. "And they're… okay with that?"  
  
"Not according to that story," Minka says. "They didn't want to bring more destruction. And who knows what would have happened if Mew hadn't interfered?"  
  
"There's another story I've heard that's similar to that one," Wilkes begins, and then quiets. It's only when Minka laughs and nods for him to continue that he says, "Mew had never been involved. The Great Birds still fought, but it was for another reason. All I remember is that it was because of that fight that Kanto is so beautiful now. The fire from Zapdos's thunder and Moltres's flames reenergized the earth, so that more things could grow. The ice from Articuno, once it melted, provided fresh water and cut several rivers through the region. At first, yes, they did bring destruction… but from the ashes, Kanto was born anew."  
  
"Let me guess, you saw it happen for yourself," I tease.  
  
Wilkes chuckles and shakes his head. "No. Amazingly enough, that was said to happen far before my time."  
  
I don't get a chance to think about his response before Jackson interrupts. "My mama used to say that the world was born from Charizard melting the earth," Jackson says, laying his chin on the edge of the bed. "She didn't say anything about Great Birds."  
  
"That doesn't make either version less accurate," Minka says, nudging Jackson's cheek with a vine. "Maybe neither of them are correct. But I know that there are morsels of truth in every story. So maybe," she says softly, looking up at True, "they're both right."  
  
Jackson's brow furrows, and he tilts his head. He thinks about it for a moment or two before grunting. "Do you know any other stories?"  
  
Minka turns to me. I look up at True.  
  
"If you had any more," she says shyly, "I'd like to hear them."  
  
Minka's grin is wide as she nods. "Well, let's see here. A good story... ah, yes. Once, there was a mighty Dragonite…"  
  
We listen to stories all through the night. It's mostly Minka recounting stories she had been told throughout her life, but once in a while Wilkes will interject with a tale of his own—about a Rapidash who was said to run so quickly he could walk over water, or a Drowzee who was said to project the dreams he had eaten. I think I hear him in my dreams, when I finally succumb to sleep. When we wake up, light is filtering through the thin blinds—someone had pulled back the heavy curtains to let the world in. Above the railing, Wilkes meets my eye with a smile.  
  
It takes longer for the others to wake up, but we don't start moving until True has slipped out of bed to take a shower and slip back into her now-dry clothes; when we do finally start stretching and eating, every move is sluggish with half-sleep. I take another look at the two Pokéballs on True's belt. Once, I had heard the Professor say that Pokémon could hear what happened outside their Pokéballs. For a moment, I wonder if Britt had heard everything last night, had even cared.  
  
"Casey?"  
  
It's True soft voice that pulls me away from that thought, and I'm grateful for it. She's fully dressed with her backpack resting by her feet, hands laced together. The other stare right at me, almost hesitant. My ears perk up. "Yeah, True?"  
  
"Can we... can you come over for a minute?"  
  
All I know, from that tone of voice, is that this will take longer than a minute. A lot longer.  
  
It's a quick jump from the floor to the bed. I'm careful not to land on Minka as I settle beside True. "Everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I..." She closes her eyes and sighs. "I... I want to go to Saffron. And help."  
  
If I wanted to, I could blame this on sleep. I could say, "didn't quite catch that, sorry." I could say, "no, I don't understand." But even when I'm still trying to fight off exhaustion, I know what she means. That we wouldn't just be going to get a badge.  
  
"I still don't think it's a good idea," I finally say.  
  
"Because of Cham—because of Chris?" she corrects. "Or because of Team Rocket?"  
  
Had I noticed that this wall had a texture before? That I could see patterns in the raised bumps? "Both."  
  
I hear True sigh, hear her fingers fidget against the duvet. The air is suddenly sweet and floral, a field of wildflowers instead of a Pokémon Center room. I look over to Minka, who's staring right at me as her leaves sway. "To calm you," she says.  
  
I don't need calming, I want to say, even though I can feel my muscles loosen at the smell.  
  
"I thought about it all night," True finally says, bringing my attention back to her. "And I think... maybe I need to do this. Not for Chris, and not for... for  _me_ , but for something bigger. Do you know what I mean?"  
  
She means it's the right thing to do, maybe even that it's her duty as a Kantonian to put a stop to this. But there have been so many attempts to bring down this organization, some small and some huge, and never have they been able to catch the top boss. Only a few admins who could be replaced, who had probably taken some kind of oath to keep the secrets hidden from the League.  
  
"You're not doing this because of your father, are you?" I finally ask.  
  
She doesn't respond right away. She sighs, and pulls at strings on the duvet. "I don't know," she says truthfully.  
  
"Then how do you expect—"  
  
"Because maybe I can actually  _do_  this," she says sharply. It's harsher than she had intended, because she retreats, as though her words are something she can pull back from. "Maybe—maybe this is what I need to do. And—and I don't know if it's because I'm trying to... to make  _up_  for him. I don't have the information that they want, I don't know  _anything_  about Team Rocket... but it's, you know, maybe that doesn't matter what I do or don't know." She looks down at her hands, red-flushed and sunburned and freckling.  
  
Minka has to press against my back several times before I turn to face her. "I've already told True that I would support her through this."  
  
"Us too," Jackson says, as Clara nods.  
  
"And I," Wilkes says. "It is our duty."  
  
When had I missed this conversation? Or were they simply following that unspoken contract that all Pokémon agreed to when they were captured—to stand by their trainer no matter what, to support her in whatever she did?  
  
Is there something  _wrong_  with me that I don't want that, not like they do?  
  
I look to the belt on the desk, at the Pokéball that winks in the half-light. "What about Britt?"  
  
"I'm gonna talk to her later," Jackson says. He raises his head and looks over to the table, and I swear, in that moment, I see Kerri flashing in his eyes. "Maybe she'll listen to me."  
  
"You'll probably have to beat the sense into her," I mutter.  
  
"Then I'll be there for backup," Minka says.  
  
We all laugh at that—even True, who's staring nervously at me when I turn back to face her. "And we have a psychic-type now. We still have to meet him... them? But with a bit of training, maybe..."  
  
I can only think of dark-clothed men and bright-red "R"s on chests, of the chaos that had exploded on the SS Anne. I chance one look at Jackson, who's staring at me with determined eyes and teeth clenched. He looks brave, like he can conquer anything. But I can still only see the tiny Charmander who hadn't been able to bring down the gunman, and yes he's different now, but  _what if_.  
  
"I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do. And... and I know that working with the League... with  _Chris_..."  
  
What would Al have done?  
  
"So if you want," True says, "I'll take you back to Pallet first. You can stay with the Professor, and the rest of us, we'll go with Chris."  
  
The fact that I'm even asking that question to myself is stupid. I know what he would have done.  
  
"But if you can... if you can trust me," True says. "I think I can do this... but with you, I think... I think I  _know_. That I can do it."  
  
He followed Chris to the ends of the earth to get what they both wanted. He did everything he could to help Chris achieve his goals. To make him a better person. To keep him safe.  
  
I don't know if I can do that, if I can directly face the danger. I'm not brave like my brother had been. But if Chris isn't even going to be there... if there are plenty of people on the inside... if I can just keep her calm... if, if, if.  
  
If we keep Jackson under control, if we can keep that network going, if we can involve ourselves  _just enough_...  
  
Maybe we have a shot.  
  
So even though my belly's clenched tight and my arms are shaking, I look straight into True's eyes, and I sigh. "Fine."  
  
I hear True's disbelieving laugh. "Y-You're sure?"  
  
"No," I say truthfully. "I... trust you, though. To use your head. But if it gets too dangerous," I add quickly, "or if something really bad starts happening, then I—"  
  
She scoops me up and pulls me into a fierce hug, burying her nose into my shoulder. And from here, I can't help but lean into the touch. Maybe all she needs is someone in her corner. She has battlers to pull the muscle. Right now, she needs  _me_ , and I can't help but think that that's a wonderful feeling.  
  
"Starter privileges," Wilkes chuckles above us. I hear Minka laugh as she stands up on the bed, humming to herself.  
  
"So we're actually going?" Jackson asks, standing up to his full height.  
  
True pulls out of the hug just enough to look at everyone. There's a fire in her eyes, a confidence that I haven't seen outside of battles in a long time. "Well, we have all the supplies... I just have to get a hold of Cha—Chris."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "The hell are you going to do that?"  
  
She takes out her Pokédex—when she opens it, a small piece of paper flutters out, landing on True's knees. "Just in case we changed our minds."  
  
Maybe she has more people in her corner than we think.


	46. Chapter Forty-Three

We check out of the room early that afternoon. The storm clouds haven't receded, but they're much lighter today than they had been yesterday. There's still a sense of danger lingering in the air—when I close my eyes, I almost wonder if there will be rumbling.  
  
Clinging this tight to Clara, I think she senses it too. She doesn't fly as high as she usually does, doesn't take the sharp turns. She's slow and steady, and each pump of her wings is slow and rhythmic.  
  
I think it says something that, save for a flock of sour-tempered Spearow, we're the only ones in the sky right now.  
  
It only takes a few hours for us to get to Saffron. Normally when we're flying, we flirt with the clouds—the land would roll under us in patches of earth, in faint traces of landmarks. This close to the ground we can see the sea gleaming as we pass Vermilion, see the buildings gleam red in the afternoon light. It doesn't take much longer to reach the route connecting Vermilion to Saffron. When I see the high hill, I remember the idiot kid with his Butterfree. I remember Peter rushing down to help the girl with her injured Sandshrew. I remember Kerri.  
  
So much has changed since we were last here. I close my eyes.  
  
"That's where you evolved," True murmurs above me.  
  
From the low rumble in her throat, I know that Clara remembers this place, too.  
  
We knew from walking through the Underground that Saffron was a big city—it had taken almost a whole day of walking to walk underneath it, without being slowed down by thick crowds of people, or being distracted by vendors selling their wares. But it's a different experience seeing it from the sky. Spires and skyscrapers try to reach for the clouds, towering above cranes and low-sitting construction buildings. There are swarms of people swimming around bright lights, and a faint scent of smoke from the small strip of factories assembling all of Silph's products.  
  
Saffron City, the manufacturing stronghold of the Kanto Region.  
  
It had taken us half a day to fly from Fuschia to Saffron—it feels like it takes another hour to find the Pokémon Center, the suggested landing-place for trainers hoping to walk into the city. It's only because we see another trainer, sitting high on her Pidgeot, that we're able to find the way. The other trainer lands first, gracefully, as if she'd been doing this all her life. We follow soon after and, well, the best we can say is that no one falls off.  
  
The other trainer peels off a heavy riding helmet and shakes out a mane of golden hair. She looks over at us as she threads her fingers through the Pidgeot's long crest feathers and smiles.   
  
True's opening and shutting her mouth, still getting adjusted to the change in altitude. But she turns to the other flier with a smile, waving her hand shyly.  
  
The other woman nods, recalls her Pidgeot, and heads down for the stairs that lead to the Center lobby.  
  
"Wasn't very friendly," I mutter, as Clara shakes her wings out.  
  
"There was only the one," True says, stretching her arms out.  
  
It takes me a second to understand the response—it takes another to realize that I  _don't_  understand. "That's not what I said."  
  
True tilts her head, her brow furrowed. "I know the last flight was bad, but that's a mean thing to say."  
  
If birds had teeth, I think Clara would be smirking.  
  
We wait a few moments until True's ears finally pop, announced by True's pained yelp. Once Clara's been returned to her ball for a well-deserved rest, True and I descend down the stairs, still weak-legged from our flight, into a half-crowded lobby. Unlike the other Centers we'd visited, this front desk has been split in two. There's a tiny line in front of one desk, where a stocky nurse moves back and forth from a state-of-the-art healing machine. The other desk has no line at all, and is headed by a willowy woman with a white scarf wrapped around her dark hair.  
  
True approaches shyly, readjusting her backpack onto her shoulder. "I'd, um, I'd like a room?"  
  
"All of our rooms are either occupied or being cleaned," the woman says. "There's a wait list here where you can write down your information?"  
  
She flinches at the sight of the notepad, where several people have scrawled down their names. "Um. I'll take my chances later, I guess."  
  
"There're hotels down along the main street," the woman says, "if you can't get into a room. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."  
  
True bows her head and leaves the desk, slipping into the closest plush chair. We sink into it with a gasp, drawing a few heads. "Not too much of a set back," I say. "You okay?"  
  
"I'll be fine," True says. She fishes out her Pokédex and opens it, pulling out another tiny piece of paper. "Maybe I should have asked her where this was," she says, holding it low in her lap.  
  
"Maybe you should go ask her—"  
  
"She's not a tour guide," she says softly, shyly looking over toward the scarfed woman. "And besides, I don't really want to go back up there."  
  
"Want me to do it?" I ask, and gesture for the slip.  
  
She only hesitates for a few seconds before shaking her head. "It seemed kind of important, you know? Maybe if we looked it up...?"  
  
There's only one computer accessible to trainers, and there's a long line. I'm just about to ask True if she wants me to look it up, but she takes the slip of paper and forces herself out of the plush chair. "Hey, if I leave the Exeggcute here, would you be able to talk to... them? Him?"  
  
"I'll figure it out," I say. "Go ahead."  
  
One burst of light later, and the six eggs have taken True's place in the chair. Twelve eyes blink at her as she walks toward the computer, brushing her hair in front of her shoulders.  
  
"She's really pretty, you know—different from the old dudes—and the caravan girls—you're that yellow thing that was with her?"  
  
Each snippet of sentence comes from a different egg, and it's hard to follow the conversation. There's an echo to each word, and I think it's inside my head, but I can't prove it. "Yeah, I was. So who're—"  
  
"This is  _totally_  different from the Wilds—bright lights— _a lot_  more people—they're not going to catch me, right? And no Scyther? 'Cause if I see another one of those—it'll be too soon—"  
  
"You're safe in here, it's a Pokémon Center, no one's going to attack you. Now—"  
  
"No but seriously, there's a  _ton_  of people—are there always this many humans? Is this a thing? I—"  
  
The burst of electricity isn't enough to hurt, but—thankfully—it's enough to shut them up for a few seconds. "Okay. Can you listen?"  
  
"Yeah, of course!"  
  
"Quietly?"  
  
"Of—oh. Yeah."  
  
I have to laugh. "Okay. That girl, her name's True. She's your trainer. My name's Casey. We're part of a... a battling team—"  
  
"I hope so, I wanted to—oh, sorry."  
  
"—And we're on an important mission. You can use psychic attacks, right?"  
  
"Uhhhhh," all six eggs chorus. "Well it's kind of not clear—I've practiced a little—well, not a  _lot_ —"  
  
"Do you have a name?" I ask sharply, chancing a glance behind me. True's only two people away from the computer. Thank Arceus.  
  
"Well sometimes. It never stays the same for long. I hear humans give you names—do you think she'll give me one? Her name was True?"  
  
"Her name's True," I confirm. "And I'm Casey. Is there one of your names that you'd like to use?"  
  
The few seconds it takes the Exeggcute to consider is the first silent moment I've had. The Pokémon reminds me of the high-energy kids I'd watched over in Pallet. They'd been restless, energetic, and absolutely exhausting. But this, at least, was something I knew how to deal with.  
  
Of course, those kids only had one mouth, not six.  
  
"Well once I was Shirley—and then another I was "buttmuncher"—didn't like that one as much—oh, and once I was Hyde! That was fun. Hey, do you have a name for me? Do ya, do ya?"  
  
"I don't choose names," I say firmly.  
  
"Oh, okay—hey, you said something about a mission? Is that like the badge thing or—?"  
  
"Secret," I hiss. "So if you can just keep quiet—"  
  
"Oh, I  _love_  secrets! One of my cousins, he's a total blabbermouth—and another cousin, xir just doesn't say  _anything!_  But I'm the best secret-keeper on the Safari—at least, for an Exeggcute."  
  
Yeah, no way in hell we were going to do the "silent, stealthy" bit for this mission. No way.  
  
By the time True comes up to us, slip of paper in hand, I've heard all about the blabbermouth cousin, who apparently had been killed by a psycho Scyther, and how another cousin had spontaneously evolved into an Exeggutor during a fight with a Tauros. The second I feel her hand on my back I almost start crying from relief. I hadn't realized how out of practice I was.  
  
"So, did you have a name already?" True asks, already fingering the brown-and-green Pokéball.  
  
"You know, I've been thinking about it—and I really do like the name—not "buttmuncher," no, stop it—no, I like Hyde. Can I be Hyde? At least for now?"  
  
True laughs. "Sure. I'm going to put you in your ball now, is that okay?"  
  
"Is that okay—I get a choice? Well let's see—see the city, or be in a ball—I dunno, it might be too much—"  
  
"We'll let you out again in a bit," True says.  
  
"Okay!" six eggs chirp. The ring of their shared word still echoes in my head as they dissolve into a flash of light.  
  
"You look like you've seen a ghost," True laughs, as she adjusts her backpack.  
  
"You do  _not_  want to know," I sigh, and jump onto True's shoulder.  
  
There are countless trucks passing up and down the main roads, keeping us pedestrians on the wide sidewalks. Everything seems wider here in Saffron: the streets, the buildings, even the trucks that slip up and down the road. One bellows past, blowing thin gray smoke; it twirls up among the tall buildings, catching gold flakes in between tendrils.  
  
We pass by markets and hotel buildings, make multiple turns, until we finally stop at a smaller building in the industrial part of town. Cranes arc up into the sky, swinging large balls into defunct buildings. There's an ever-present rumbling here, a city that is too busy to sleep.  
  
The farther east we go, the more we slip away from the bright lights and dazzling displays of downtown, and into the industrial district. Machoke walk up and down the streets with huge steel pillars resting on their shoulders, as Hitmonchan punch slabs of steel together with flaming fists. Most of them don't look at us as we pass by—only one, a Hitmonlee with dark eyes, makes eye-contact, but quickly looks away to cleave a hunk of rock in two with a well-aimed kick.  
  
"Down this way... and through this alley..."  
  
The squat building doesn't stand apart from the others in the neighborhood. The only thing that separates it from the rest is the yellow trim, and a basket of flowers on the front porch. True looks around, tense and shaking, and grabs my paw before I have a chance to offer it.  
  
"We don't have to do this," I say. "We can walk away, right now."  
  
True sighs, turns to the door, and knocks.  
  
It opens suddenly, a crack. An Alakazam stands near the entrance, looking down at us from a bushy mouth. [You're early.]  
  
"Is that a good thing?" True asks, hands shaking.  
  
The tall psychic-type doesn't give us a chance to answer; instead, he pulls us inside with a flick of his wrist. We stumble into the room, tugged by psychic energy, and once we're in the heavy door shuts into a dark room. There's no speck of light until I start sparking, and even then we can only see a few inches in front of our faces.  
  
"You made it."  
  
True and I both flinch as, one by one, the electric lights come on. The room is larger than we had thought—there are multiple tables ringed with chairs, and even a tiny wooden stage on the far corner. Tanza stands on top of the stage with his arms crossed, and doesn't meet my eyes.  
  
But Chris, standing in front of a low-sitting table with his hands in his pockets by one of the far corner tables, does, and he doesn't stop looking. "Can I ask what made you change your mind?"  
  
 _Richard Fargone is no longer in jail, True doesn't have a safe place to go home anymore, True has a martyr complex._  I want to say all of these things but I don't; instead I stare at Chris, who shifts his gaze to True's hesitant face.  
  
"Does it matter?" True asks, gripping the back of the closest chair.  
  
Chris looks like he's about to reply, but stops just short. He sighs. "A little. But I guess if you're ready to work, I can't be a chooser, eh?"  
  
He slides into the nearest chair, resting his chin on one hand. The other gestures to the seat in front of him. True starts to approach him, but stops just two tables away. Her fingers brush against the dusty table, unable even to catch the lamp light. She sits in the nearest chair and sits deliberately.  
  
The Alakazam at the door growls. [If you think you can ignore the summons of the acting Kanto Champion—]  
  
"They're fine, Sydney," Tanza calls from the miniature stage, rubbing the back of his head with a massive hand. "They're doing us a favor. Leave them be."  
  
The Alakazam huffs and shakes his head, turning back toward the iron door.  
  
"He's a little paranoid," Chris chuckles. "Don't mind him."  
  
Yeah, don't mind a powerful psychic-type Pokémon, almost guaranteed to be League trained. Right.  
  
It seems weird to have such an important conversation with the "acting Kanto Champion" from two tables away, but he makes it work. Chris stands up straight in his chair and starts talking. "Most of our guys are already inside, settling in. Your friend Gary was officially inducted two days ago, and apparently he nailed his initiation battle. Now I know I said you were probably going to be mail room," Chris says, "and hopefully that'll be the case. But no matter where you go, they'll want to see your team, just to see what you're capable of. If you're strong enough, you might get upgraded."  
  
"Upgraded?" I narrow my eyes.  
  
"You might get sent on missions. And if that happens, you'll be absolved of any crime when we get these guys."  
  
There are trails of dust where True's been sliding her fingers over the old wood.  
  
"Is there anything you want to ask before I give you the address?"  
  
She's not even looking at Chris anymore.  
  
"Alright. Hey, is there any chance you caught—?"  
  
"I won't be a part of Team Rocket."  
  
Chris lifts his chin off his hands, blinking wide hazel eyes. "No," he says gently, "no, you won't."  
  
"I'm not... catching and stealing Pokémon." True takes a deep breath and looks down at the pictures her hands had made in the dust. "I won't do it."  
  
"As a new grunt," Tanza says "you don't really have a choice—"  
  
"I'm don't want to hurt anyone!" True yells. The words ring in the hollow room— this close, I can feel her heart thundering in her chest. "I won't."  
  
Chris doesn't seem phased at all. It's hard to see in the half-light, but I think he's smiling. "If you get asked to do something you don't want to do... will you do it?"  
  
True furrows her brow. "Like stealing? Or poaching?"  
  
"Any of that."  
  
She doesn't answer.  
  
"Then let me ask a question," Tanza says, jumping off of the tiny stage. His fur is fluffed up with electricity; there's a faint glow that illuminates his every movement. "If it will keep you safe, will you do it?"  
  
True grips onto the table as Tanza approaches her. "What I—that's not important—"  
  
"If it keeps your Pokémon safe," Tanza says slowly. "Your family. Casey. Will you do it?"  
  
True looks up at me, wide-eyed.  
  
"Will you do it?" Tanza asks again.  
  
And finally, after thirty heartbeats—"Yes."  
  
I don't know whether to feel relieved or scared out of my fucking mind. "You can still get out of this," I say quietly. "If you're having any doubts, you—"  
  
"Answer my question."  
  
I growl under my breath and turn to the Electabuzz. "She already answered your damn question—"  
  
"If it means protecting True," Tanza says, meeting my eyes with a steady glance, and it's only then that I realize he's talking to me, not her, "will you do this?"  
  
I feel True's eyes on me, and I feel Chris's eyes on me, but I don't look at either of them. I don't look at Tanza, either. There's one flickering light that I look at, flashing in the darkness like a star.  
  
Once, Al and I had laid down on the grass and made pictures out of stars—a Glameow here, a flock of Pidgeotto there, a bowl of soup over in the far-west corner. It wasn't until I had done the same thing with Cassidy that I had learned there were actual constellations, not just some made-up stories shared between two Pokémon and their trainer on cool summer nights.  
  
If I concentrate, I can almost smell the mossy pines in Eterna.  
  
"There had been a little Shinx who wanted to grow up into a mighty Luxray," I say. "And when the Shinx told his friends that someday, he was going to be big and strong, they laughed at him. Because how could a little guy ever get to be so strong as to be a big and mighty Pokémon?  
  
"But he kept training and training, and even though he didn't evolve, he got stronger. Never grew up. And while most of the other Pokémon kept laughing at him, he had a best friend who believed in him, another Shinx. And he helped him train to get stronger and stronger. They both got stronger.  
  
"And then one day, there was a big Pokémon they couldn't beat. And—"  
  
"They tried fighting it together," Chris says softly.  
  
When I turn towards him, he's staring at me intently, hands resting on the table in front of him. "The littlest Shinx told his best friend to run. The other Shinx wouldn't leave. They fought to the end. They brought down the monster, but it cost them their lives."  
  
"All the other Pokémon found the two bodies and mourned," I say, looking at him with an equal tensity. "They cried for days."  
  
"And on the third day," Chris continues, "their tears dissolved the bodies and made them stars. They made a new constellation so that they'd always be reminded of the two brave Shinx."  
  
The lights around the room flicker once, twice, distorting our shadows.  
  
"You've never told me that story," True says softly.  
  
I'd never wanted to. It was one the three of us had made up together, me and Al and Chris. "That's my answer," I say.  
  
I only see Tanza out of the corner of my eye. Chris nods and rises from his chair, still bracing himself on the table. "Then I guess," he says, raising his head toward the ceiling, "we better get started."  
  


* * *

  
"So let me get this straight. You're a Fargone?"  
  
The office is too bright, all electric lights and gray walls. Silph Tower stands proud out from the north window, glinting in the morning sun. It's the only interesting thing to look at—the sad room is only adorned with a table and a chair, a few half-dead potted plants. It's a sad, dreary place; even the man, middle-aged with a sagging mouth, doesn't seem all that excited to be here.  
  
We'd had the night to ourselves, in a small apartment rented by the League. We'd debriefed the team with everything, devised a plan of action.  
  
Britt hadn't said anything the entire night. Or this morning.  
  
True has her hands folded tightly in front of her, the half-chewed nails digging into her own skin. "Y-Yes, sir."  
  
"Shit," the man says, running his fingers through thin blond hair. "You know, I knew your father. Decent enough guy. Damn good battler." He squints his beady eyes, leaning in toward her. "Probably could've taken you on."  
  
He'd had True release all of her Pokémon. I'm thankful for it, because it's the only reason I'm allowed to be out here watching, just within arm's reach of True, instead of tucked away in a Pokéball. Jackson looks at me warily, his clawed paws curled into tight fists. Minka mutters something under her breath, and I think it calms him, because he screws his eyes shut and doesn't make eye-contact with anyone.  
  
"Four badges is pretty impressive," the man says, as he steps in front of Clara. She growls low in her throat, raising her head high. "And your Pokémon all seem to be in good health. Good variety."  
  
We haven't been killed yet. We haven't been found out. The man steps in front of Jackson—who won't look at him back—in front of Britt, who sneers and glares—in front of Wilkes, who says nothing—in front of Hyde, who is tittering away, eagerly meeting the man's eyes—in front of me, who has eyes only for True, who's watching us—in front of Minka—  
  
"Except that Ivysaur of yours," the man says dismissively. "Might be a little too old to be battling."  
  
"She's strong," True says immediately. When he turns to face her, she shrinks, pulling her arms back toward herself. "Just," she stammers, and it takes her a moment to recollect herself. "Just. In a different way than you might expect."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
And that's all he says. He walks over to the locked box on his desk—the only other adornment—and lifts up the lid. I don't recognize the flash of white until it materializes into a gigantic Raticate, who gnashes its long teeth and hisses.  
  
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind proving it to me, then? In a battle?"  
  
True meets my eyes immediately, horrified. I don't know what to do—do we battle him? Do we say "no thanks"? What happens if we don't agree?  
  
Minka takes the decision away from us, and moves in close toward the Raticate. "I'll battle."  
  
True looks like she's about to protest, but rises from her seat, shaking.  
  
The rest of us back up along the walls, and for a moment I wonder if this is why they aren't adorned. This close I can see where paint has covered up long scratch marks. One of Hyde's heads nudges too close to me, and I shove it away. "I've never seen her battle before," Hyde says. "I mean, I've never seen  _any_  of you guys battle before—is she any good?"  
  
I sneak one glance at Britt, whose tail is bristling behind her. "She isn't bad," I say, and look back toward the battlefield.  
  
"Should be scared," the Raticate hisses, twitching its large round ears. "Grandma should be scared."  
  
"Fear can be a great thing," Minka says, and lashes out with two twin vines.  
  
The giant thing is a blur as it rams into Minka's side, a blur as it starts racing away back to its trainer. But Minka had been watching—both vines meet the Raticate's cheek, and the tawny rodent goes flying against one gray wall. It hisses, shaking dust off of its matted pelt, before charging again toward Minka.  
  
"Aim for the bulb," the man says simply.  
  
That bulb had only taken a hit to Minka, and she'd been exhausted. Who knew what those teeth could do?  
  
True seems to have the same thought, because she's almost screeching as she commands, "Minka, grab it! And then use Sleep Powder!"  
  
It's only because Minka steps just far enough that the long teeth don't make contact with the bulb—the teeth tear one of Minka's leaves right down the middle. Minka yelps but stands firm, lashing out with her two vines. The Raticate is held fast, with one dark vine wrapped around its hind legs and the other around its neck.  
  
When Minka blows a cloud of dark blue dust into its face, the Raticate struggles—but as each of us watch, it grows sleepier and sleepier, and eventually stops struggling. I hear Jackson let out a breath and hear Hyde ooh with admiration.  
  
Britt rolls her eyes and looks away.  
  
Minka, breathing heavily, sets the sleeping Pokémon down gently onto the ground, then looks back up at the old man. "Does that satisfy you?"  
  
There's no way of knowing whether he is or not. He's emotionless as he recalls the Raticate to its ball, slipping it back into the dark box on his desk.  
  
True leans down to spray a Super Potion onto Minka's leaf—she stands still but moans under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut.  
  
"You learned to take a tool that others would discard," the man says, "and turn it into something useful. Impressive," the man says, and approaches True. "I can see how you might have earned four badges now."  
  
True gives the Super Potion to Minka and stands up. She's tall enough to be a head above the older man, but she doesn't stand straight. Their eyes meet evenly. "Does this mean I'm in?" she says, her hands still shaking.  
  
The man chuckles. "Always wanted to meet you, kid. Glad to see it was in this sort of circumstance." The man extends a heavy hand to True; she takes it timidly, shaking once.  
  
"Welcome to Team Rocket, True Fargone."


	47. Chapter Forty-Four

"Tomorrow morning," the man says, "come to the Silph fountain. You'll find a man there who'll give you the tour of the facilities. Bring six battle-ready Pokémon with you."  
  
That's all the information we get. The secretary on the main floor, a slender women with a dark pixie cut, watches us slip onto the street with narrowed eyes. The only sign that she's even alive is a short toss of her head as she picks up the phone. "Yes, Columbia Building, this is Adrian..."  
  
True doesn't say anything as we walk down the street to a large apartment building, tucked between two department stores. Alongside instructions for our mission—stay low, gather and report any information that we might come across—Chris had given us a set of keys to a small apartment for our use. It gave us more space than a room in the Pokémon Center, and a bit more privacy. No lobby full of trainers, no double desks, no flashing TV screens, no nothing—just a room with simple furnishings, a proper bedroom and kitchen, and a view of a wall littered with graffiti. The fridge is stocked with pantry staples, a bonus I hadn't been expecting.  
  
"Sure was nice of him to give us this place," Minka says an hour later, as she sets a plate of grapes and cut apples on the low-rising coffee table. "He didn't have to do that."  
  
"We're risking our necks for his stupid mission," Britt scoffs, popping a grape into her mouth. "Should've given us a goddamn palace."  
  
"Perhaps being unable to stay at the Pokémon Center was a good sign after all," Wilkes remarks, resting low on the dark sofa. "This is certainly a much better location."  
  
"Is this how all you humans live?" Hyde asks, each egg-head hopping joyfully. "With food in those cold boxes? And no grasslands? How do you  _survive?_ "  
  
"Here's how  _you_  survive," Britt hisses. "Shut your fucking mouth. Mouths. What the fuck are you?"  
  
"An Exeggcute!" one Hyde head chirps. "And you're a... scary looking thing. I don't know. Kind of like a Dratini, but not really—you're a lot thicker than a Dratini—no—more like a Tauros— _wait_ —"  
  
"Maybe it's best," Minka says immediately, "if we talk about the plan for tomorrow. We meet at that fountain...?"  
  
"With six Pokémon who can battle," True says softly, placing a half-eaten apple slice back on the plate. "And we have seven Pokémon with us now."  
  
"Are we even going to be doing any battling?" Minka asks.  
  
"It's Team Rocket," Britt says, stealing True's slice of apple and popping it into her mouth. "'Sides, s'not li' we need a whol' team." She swallows. "I'll carry everyone."  
  
"I think the better way to do this," I say, "is to say who  _doesn't_  want to come in with us. At least for now."  
  
Eleven pairs of eyes come to meet me. True's still staring at her hands.  
  
"Who'd ditch at this point?" Britt scowls. "Maybe you, but no one else."  
  
"I'm coming!" Jackson growls.  
  
Clara bucks her head, ruffling her feathers proudly.  
  
"I'd like to stay on, if that's alright," Wilkes says. "Phasing through walls might do us well on a reconnaissance front."  
  
"And apparently  _you_  have Starter privileges," Britt scowls, looking to me. "That leaves Grandma and that pile of idiot eggs."  
  
My eyes narrow. "We need a team who'll actually listen and get along with everyone. Maybe that means leaving  _you_  behind."  
  
Britt snarls.  
  
"We'll rotate."  
  
True's voice is so quiet that I almost don't hear her at first. It's only when True lifts herself up and repeats herself that I turn my head to face her, see her narrowed eyes. "If everyone wants to be a part of this mission, we'll rotate people in and out. That gives everyone a chance to recover, just in case something happens."  
  
"Then who comes first?" Britt says.  
  
True sighs, then turns to the Exeggcute. "We'll leave you behind first. I'm sorry, but I don't... I don't really know you? And I'd like a team I know to go in. First."  
  
"Oh," all six heads say. "Well that's—that's okay, I mean—I get it, you don't know me—yeah! Yeah, I'll just stay around here—"  
  
"Well, I'll have to put you into a PC box. And it's not supposed to hurt, you'll be just fine." True pauses. "Is, um, is that okay?"  
  
"You're the trainer!" Hyde chirps. "So yeah—and it'll be a new adventure—and it'll only be temporary, right?"  
  
"Right," True says, and smiles.  
  
"Well if that's settled," Minka says, "I suggest we get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."  
  
True nods, rubbing her shoulder with a fist. "Sure. Pokeballs or the bed for tonight?"  
  
There's a perfectly good bed in the room, but we all end up sleeping together on the couch and the floor.  
  


* * *

  
We come to Silph's front gates one Pokémon lighter. I'm in True's arms when we leave the small apartment, but by the time we come to Silph's front doors I've moved onto her shoulder. True's left her backpack in the apartment, but her hands keep fumbling for the straps. "We can go back," I start to say, until she shakes her head.  
  
A muscular blond man comes up to us, his arms folded. "Is there anything I can help you with?"  
  
"Um, can you tell us... can you tell us where the fountain is? I'm—I'm supposed to meet someone there."  
  
Understanding brightens the man's brown eyes. "Once you go inside, you won't be able to miss it. I'll let him know you're here."  
  
We nod, and walk through the doors. The main lobby is wide open, almost an entire floor by itself. Several men and women in dark clothes murmur to each other, some holding briefcases and others scribbling last-minute notes on huge slabs of paper. But by far the most dominating feature is the fountain smack-dab in the center of the room, glistening and gleaming in the electric lights. The water is crystalline and lovely, perfectly clear. I've seen a few ponds that housed small aquatic Pokémon—baby Magikarp, or Goldeen—and look for a flash of orange, a twitching fin. But always outside. But the only color in this pool comes from copper pieces thrown into the fountain, the sparkle of pebbles littering the ground.  
  
If it's not being used to house Pokémon, why have it?  
  
"Lovely fountain, isn't it."  
  
We both flinch at the thin voice behind us, and turn. The man who comes to stand beside us is tall and lanky, with a shock of pale blue hair and dark eyes. He doesn't look straight at us, but turns his attention to the geysers spraying a fine mist into the air. "We only installed it ten years ago, but I can't quite remember what the lobby looked like without it." He sighs, then finally turns to True, disregarding me entirely. "True Fargone, my name is Archer, and I'm in charge of the new recruits. It's a pleasure to meet you."  
  
True grabs for me with a shaking hand, and nods. "How did you know... who I was?"  
  
"We have our ways. In time, you may come to learn of them." Archer chuckles before turning away from the fountain. "Shall we take off?"  
  
Suddenly I'm back on the SS Anne, listening to that cry over the loud speakers:  _"Rockets, take off!"_  I wince. True doesn't notice, but she teases my fingers with her finger and nods, stepping behind Archer as he leads the way to a metal stairwell.  
  
"Ladies first," the man says, propping the door open.  
  
We walk up two flight of stairs before Archer tells us to stop. The metal door looks thick and imposing, and True fumbles with the handle a few seconds before finally prying it open. The man catches it with one hand and gestures us to slip in in front of him. When he releases the door, it shuts with a heavy CLANG that echoes in the stairway.  
  
"You've saved us quite a bit of trouble," he says, leading us down dark gray hallways. "Regarding giving you a Pokémon. Do each obey you in battle?"  
  
Maybe not Britt, but everyone else. True must be thinking about that too, because she hesitates before she nods.  
  
The man doesn't seem bothered by it. He doesn't seem bothered by anything as he walks, casually rapping his knuckles on the textured walls. "You seemed to prove yourself in combat well enough, though of course, that was in a contained situation. We'll have to put you through field trials to see if you're able to get out for missions—"  
  
I brush against True's cheek; when I pull away, hair clings to my fur, charged with static electricity.  
  
"And you may be teamed up with other recruits. Very few of them have proved themselves in battle as you have, in regards to the League. In fact, maybe we'll keep you here to train… if you can make an elderly Ivysaur seem threatening and able to prove itself in battle, who knows what you could do."  
  
Had that been True, though? Or had it been something within Minka, always wanting to strike but never having that opportunity to prove herself?   
  
"And with a history like yours... Well. You might be able to move on up in the ranks fairly quickly."  
  
How far does loyalty to this mission go? How deeply are we going to have to immerse ourselves in this?  
  
True's sigh rumbles low in her belly, and I feel her fingers fit themselves behind my ears. "Is there… is there anything else I need to know?"  
  
The man furrows his thin brows, deep in thought, then shakes his head. "Not immediately. For right now, we'll get you your uniform. If you'll follow me."  
  
We don't, immediately. The man gets several feet of distance before he realizes that we aren't following. He doesn't chastise, doesn't say anything—he stares with dark gray eyes that pierce, when you look right into them.  
  
True doesn't. Her eyes are focused on her shuffling feet as she finally inches toward him, glancing up only once or twice.  
  
"Then again," Archer says quietly, "not knowing how to harness great potential can be more disastrous than having no potential at all."  
  
He leads us down a narrow hallway to a dark wooden door. The man raps his giant knuckles once, twice, three times, before pausing. Two raps. Pause. One.  
  
The dark woman who opens the door seems familiar, but I can't place her. Her dark eyes are narrowed as she looks over the man—she doesn't look at us. "If you have more uniforms to mend, send them to Caroline."  
  
"Caroline already has enough on her plate," Archer says. "And in either case, that's not why I'm here. Right now you have a fitting to do. Sherri, meet True Fargone."  
  
And suddenly I remember sea salt lingering in the air, and a workshop littered with fabric. Dressing rooms and lavender gowns and "free of charge." From what few curled locks I can see underneath a tye-dye scarf, she's lightened her hair. Her eyes brighten when she finally sees us and she tilts her head to the side, but all she says is, "Third new recruit this week. Are we doing some sort of campaign again?"  
  
Archer chuffs, already turning away from the door. "Just make sure this one is dressed for the part."  
  
She looks like she's about to retort, but when Archer narrows his eyes, she thinks better. "Yes, sir, right away,  _sir_."  
  
Archer scoffs as he rounds the corner, disappearing from sight.  
  
It's only when we can't hear the echo of his footsteps that Sherri looks at us properly, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed. "So. Been a while, hasn't it?"  
  
The last time we had seen her, Kerri and Peter had still been alive—Minka and Jackson hadn't evolved—we hadn't even met Britt. The SS Anne attack still seemed like a lifetime ago, but really, not much time had passed. But so much had changed.  
  
"I… I'm sorry about that dress," True says, looking back down at the floor.  
  
Sherri blinks once or twice before smiling, and shakes her head. "Your Bulbasaur explained everything—well, I guess she's an Ivysaur now." She pauses. "She's alright and everything?"  
  
"Yes!" True says, a little too quickly. "I mean, yeah, um, she's fine. Minka. Minka's fine."  
  
"Minka," Sherri says. "Yeah, sounds right. So. Unless you're here to sell me cookies or something, we'd better get started."  
  
Sherri turns back into the room, holding the door open behind her. True meets Sherri's eyes, even if it is timidly. "But you're… I mean, you're—"  
  
"Here?" Sherri asks. When True nods, Sherri quietly says, "So're you."  
  
We're only here because we were asked, I want to say. But how are we supposed to know who's on our side and who isn't?  
  
"Well, we'd have to get it done sooner or later, you know? Follow me and we'll do a fitting."  
  
The response must do something, because True finally steps forward, pushing the door open. Sherri slips inside, beckoning us forward only with a wide smile and a tilt of her head.  
  
From what little we had seen of the building, Team Rocket favored bland, generic colors—they hadn't marked their territory at all, and I doubt this space looked any different from the others in Saffron City. I figured this room would be something similar. But Sherri has done her best to try and brighten it up with lamps, and has even wrapped colored cloth around Illumise lights. It's all greens and blues and golds, with only the faintest hint of red.  
  
"You know what they say," Sherri says with a smile, "you have to make the space creative to get the juices flowing."  
  
I know nothing about creativity, but all I know is that this room is the first we've been in that's felt anything close to homey. There's a spot in the corner for Preston to perch—nothing like the exposed beams in their old work place, but it seems comfortable enough. The Pidgey looks at us and mutters something under his breath before tucking his beak underneath a wing.  
  
"Does… does everyone come in here?" True says. Her hand reaches for a bit of sparkling cloth, but pulls back.  
  
"At some point or another, yeah," Sherri says. "Fittings, drastic uniform patches. Not for little repairs, which happen all the time. That pile," she says, gesturing to a bundle of black clothing, "is all full of torn holes. Kids who got too eager in their training time."  
  
"Training time?" True asks.  
  
"They haven't told you about that?" When True shakes her head, Sherri laughs. "What does Archer even do besides be an intimidating asshole. Anyway. Unless you're an admin, who gets appointed by the Boss—I don't know who he is, I've only been working here for a, like, a month—rank is determined by how good you are in battle. So there'll be "official" trials where grunts can climb the ranks. But there's also practice duels, and those are mostly for the newer recruits to get some standing. If we hurry with this fitting," Sherri says, "we can catch the next one, it starts in about an hour. You interested?"  
  
"In—in going with you? Um," True says. "Well. Um—"  
  
"That'd be great," I interject. "What do we have to do?"  
  
Sherri chuckles. "Ordinarily I'd have you take your clothes off—"  
  
True gulps.  
  
"—But since the uniforms have to fit a little loosely anyway, it should work if you keep them on. I do have to measure you, though, just to make sure it's a good fit. Is that going to be okay with you?"  
  
I don't listen to the few snippets of conversation that pass between the two girls—there's only so much privacy I can ever give True, only so much I can feel comfortable giving her. But pretending that I'm not paying attention, that's something I can do. Sherri's hands flit around True, recording numbers in her head before I can register her slipping tape around True's shoulders and chest and hips. It's a painless process, and by the time True can start forming long sentences, Sherri is already rustling in her shelves for appropriate attire.  
  
"These should fit you alright, but if you have any problems just say so. If we're going to go to that competition, you'll want to have a good-fitting uniform."  
  
True holds the garments by the tips of her fingers. The bold "R" doesn't seem as red in this light, but even from here I can see True's eyes fixate on it, see her hands shake.  
  
"You going to try it on?" Sherri asks, tilting her head.  
  
I brush against True's exposed ankles, pressing my body close against the flushed skin. I can't see True past the dark bundle, but I can feel her tremble. "Just… give me a minute," she says softly.  
  
"You want me to step outside?" Sherri asks gently.  
  
"We could get me a snack," Preston chirps from the back. The tiny Pidgey is airborne just long enough to make it from his perch to Sherri's shoulder, and nibbles a few tightly-wound locks of hair. "Just down the hall."  
  
I want to hug them both.  
  
Sherri nods with a sigh. "We'll be back in a few minutes, okay? Will that be enough time?"  
  
True doesn't respond. But I turn to them and say, "We'll be fine. Thank you."  
  
They don't say anything before they leave us. The door has been shut for thirty seconds before True starts sniffling. She slides into the nearest corner of the room, dropping the bundle of clothes onto the ground beside her. I jump right into her lap, pressing my nose against the end of hers. "Talk to me."  
  
I'm listening for rapid breathing and a thundering heart, I'm watching for flushed cheeks. But True is almost worryingly calm, save for a few choked sobs and her hands holding me tight against her. "It feels  _real_  now."  
  
"You are not your father," I say. "This does not make you your father. This is... this is a costume. It's a game."  
  
"Casey?" she says weakly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What happens if we lose?"  
  
We both know, but I can't find it in me to answer her.  
  
By the time Sherri and Preston have come back into the room, True has slipped into the dark uniform. She rolls her arms experimentally before hooking the rest of the team onto the silver belt. Sherri stands beside us, looking True over. "How's it fit?"  
  
"A little tight," she says softly. "But I think... that'll be good."  
  
"There's room to let it out," Sherri says—but when True shakes her head, she nods. "Alright. Well, since you're dressed for the part, you want to see some of your fellow grunts in battle?"  
  
Though it's Sherri who leads us, True walks right beside her. I'm glad for the guide—this floor is practically a maze, with no clear markers telling us where each thing is. Sherri points out cameras and faint patterns on the walls, as though we'll be here long enough to remember where they are, or what they lead to. But then again, I guess that's the point of the whole operation.  
  
But there comes a time where we don't need the maze anymore—we follow the overzealous shouts and battle cries of Pokémon into a large open room. There's already a sea of grunts in the room, of varying heights and builds and ages. I see a small wisp of a kid standing right beside a man who can't be younger than forty, each staring intently on the battle unfolding in the center of the square.  
  
"You need me to stay here with you?" Sherri asks.  
  
One of the Pokémon screeches, loud and piercing. True grabs Sherri immediately, and that's incentive enough for the seamstress to not move.  
  
I can only get a clear sight of the action by standing on True's head. Two young kids stand at opposing ends of the makeshift battleground, shouting commands at the top of their lungs. A scraggly Rattata zips out of the opposing Ekans's striking range, before slamming its tail against the purple snake's head. The Ekans retaliates with a shower of Poison Stings, which hit their mark—the Rattata screeches and falls down to the ground, curling up into a ball. The Ekans lies low on the ground, panting. Each has been scarred from previous fights, and neither one looks like they're in any shape to fight.  
  
I have to fight to keep the vomit in my mouth. It's a losing battle.  
  
"Get up! Rattata, get up!"  
  
"Ekans, come on, just Bite it already!"  
  
Neither Pokémon looks like they have the strength to continue. The Ekans's tail rattles threateningly as the Rattata pushes itself up onto its paws. It slips once, but is able to finally stand erect, baring its sharp fangs.  
  
"Go for the kill, Ekans, use—"  
  
And suddenly people are screaming and ducking all around us—True flinches into herself, and when I lose my balance she grabs me and holds me close to her chest. The lights suddenly shut off. When they flicker back on, a huge Golbat has the Ekans and Rattata pinned, one head in each of its long, clawed feet. A huge tongue rolls out of its wide mouth, kisses both Pokémon on the cheek. They stop struggling after that.  
  
Every hair along my scruff bristles.  
  
The crowd parts to the right of us. A tall woman with jet-black hair prowls toward the center stage, where the Golbat has its opponents pinned. The two battling grunts look up with wide, fearful eyes. They shake in their boots. They can't be any older than thirteen.  
  
The woman walks up to the closer of the two grunts, hands held tight behind her. "Is that how you usually battle?" the woman asks—she doesn't speak loudly, but somehow I can hear every word.  
  
"I'm usually—usually a lot better."  
  
"You'll address me as 'ma'am,' grunt," the woman growls, pursing her bright red lips.  
  
"Ma'am," the taller of the two adds, and bows his head.  
  
"Mm." She turns on her heels and turns to the three Pokémon. "Which one is yours?"  
  
"Th—the Rattata. Ma'am."  
  
"Hmm. And your Rattata, do you normally let it battle until it's hardly able to move?"  
  
"Well," the kid says, "yeah. I mean, they're only—they're only tools for battling, right?"  
  
Breakfast doesn't taste as good when you're swallowing it down a second time.  
  
I don't even know she's grabbed for him until he's lifted into the air by the collar of his shirt. He flails in mid-air, pumping his legs. The woman's other hand smacks the kid on his left cheek, and he stops struggling, instead looking down with more fear than before. None of the other grunts move to help him, as if their feet have been rooted to the ground.  
  
"If I can't trust you with a Rattata, which can be found in any hidey-hole in this goddamn region," she hisses, "how the hell can I trust you with a Pokémon of worth? Would you treat a Kangaskhan the way you treat that weak little thing?"  
  
His mouth moves but he doesn't make a sound.  
  
" _Answer me,_  grunt, or I will—"  
  
"Kangaskhan are so much stronger," the kid yells, "than a little Rattata—thing couldn't even fight against an Ekans—"  
  
But he stops speaking. The knife in the woman's hands catches the light, and everyone's breath, all in the same moment. True's practically shivering like a leaf, and people are starting to notice. Sherri presses her shoulder against True's, and I bury myself into her chest.  
  
"Would you say a knife is better than a sword? Or a gun? You don't want to bring a knife to a gunfight. Isn't that the saying?"  
  
When no one answers, I peek up. All around us, grunts are nodding hesitantly. It seems to satisfy her. "But you see, knives can be useful, if the situation calls for them. I couldn't very easily stab you in the eye with a gun, now, could I? Hell, a broken toothpick could do some damage, if I knew how to use it."  
  
I'm anticipating a draw from the knife, a scream,  _something_ —all I get is the kid falling to the ground, shivering as he recalls his Rattata back into a grimy Pokeball. He scampers away and the other grunts make a path for him. No one stops him, not even the woman.  
  
The other kid reaches for his Pokeball, even as the woman stares at him. When she doesn't stop him, he recalls his Ekans and flees as well.  
  
"Let that be a lesson to all of you," the woman says sharply. "You want to advance in the ranks of Team Rocket, you learn how to take care of your toothpicks. Maybe then we'll give you a knife. Clear?"  
  
As one, the crowd nods.  
  
"Good. Now get the hell out of here."  
  
Bodies press against us in a mad dash to escape the open room—I get elbowed in the face several times, even as True and Sherri curl into each other to shield me. Suddenly True yells, flinching away. I look up to see the Golbat perched above us, one clawed foot on each of True's shoulders. The sea of grunts parts as they stream away, and when we look around, Sherri is nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Ariana wants to see you especially, little girl," the Golbat hisses.  
  
The shot of electricity rips out of me before I can stop myself. It catches the Golbat's wing, and she flinches. "Claws off," I hiss, bristling.  
  
"Cute little rat wants to protect his trainer?" the dark bat croons. "Funny. Thought you were only brave near the water."  
  
My eyes narrow, and I spark again.  
  
"Strike. Stop playing with the fresh meat," the woman—Ariana?—calls.  
  
The only Strike I knew had been a Zubat—who I'd only seen with Team Rocket. Of course.  
  
"Ah, but we're just catchin' up," the Golbat taunts. But she lets go, arcing high above us to return to her trainer. Strike loops around the dark-haired woman once before perching on the slender woman's shoulders. Ariana doesn't even flinch at the extra weight.  
  
"I'm right here," I say softly to True. "I'm right here."  
  
True grabs me and doesn't move.  
  
"Didn't expect you to ever come down here," Ariana says, pulling her hands back behind her. "Somehow I got the impression that you had too much of your mother in you."  
  
I struggle in True's hold to breathe. "You knew my mother?" True asks quietly.  
  
The other woman's eyes roll violently. "Hardly. Met her once. Too soft. Never figured why he'd fall for a woman like her, but you know what they say."  
  
I don't, and Ariana doesn't explain.  
  
"She's not the important one anyway," Ariana says, waving her hand dismissively. "That's your father. Anyone worth their salt in this organization knows who Richard Fargone is. Those two idiots battling like morons right there, they wouldn't know. But I knew him."  
  
I don't know what scares me more—that True had been shaking just moments ago, or that she's still as a stone now.  
  
"Richard Fargone," Ariana repeats, and shakes her head. "You sure as hell look like him. And from what little I've seen, I can tell you have that same softness." Her smile turns cruel. "We'll beat that out of you, too, soon enough."  
  
True looks up, blank-eyed.  
  
It doesn't bother Ariana, who looks around the deserted opening with a contented sigh. "Well. Time for me to get back to work. You'd best take some time to get yourself together,  _Fargone_ , before the next round of trials. It looks like you'll need it."  
  
"See you later, rat," Strike hisses, catching me on the head with one long claw before flying off with Ariana.  
  
Do I zap her? Do I follow her? My cheeks feel full to bursting, and I can feel the static electricity clinging to my fur. True's finally started to move again, but it's in the wrong way—her legs collapse from underneath her, and we both fall down to the ground hard. I still don't let go, because True's still wrapped around me, and I can't hurt her, not now, there's no way—  
  
"She'll get what's coming to her."  
  
One charged bolt flies from me at the voice. It breaks something in True, because she starts sobbing. Pressed against her, I can feel her chest heave, her gut clench, feel the tears sprinkling down her face onto mine. One hand cradles the back of my head and forces me even closer, so that I have to fight to see around us.  
  
The scarlet "R" on his chest is hidden by his folded arms, and wisps of brown hair only just manage to peek out from underneath his heavy black hat. But I don't even need to see Cassidy brush up against us to know it's Gary who's found us, who's looking down with a heavy scowl. "You want to have a meltdown where everyone can see you? Pull it together."  
  
I'm only just aware of Cassidy hissing her reply as I nuzzle into True's cheek. "You don't listen to him, just—"  
  
But suddenly True is standing up, violently rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her eyes are red when she blinks up at Gary, brow furrowed and shaking. "Why're you—?"  
  
"Same reason you are," he says. "I wanted to check out the competition. If that's all I have to worry about, then I'm set."  
  
"They were  _killing_  them!" I hiss. "You—you're not even worried about that?"  
  
Gary scoffs. "I've got my team, and we're strong. If this is the best Team Rocket has to offer, then we'll be done—"  
  
"We are  _not_  talking about this right now," Cassidy hisses. "Remember what you've been told."  
  
It means nothing to me, but Gary rolls his eyes. "Whatever. She's right though. You need somewhere to... do whatever you need to do?"  
  
"I'll take care of her."  
  
Sherri walks up to the four of us, eyes narrowed. "If you're going to do as well as you say you are for placement trials, you'd better get ready, huh?"  
  
Gary narrows his eyes and says nothing, at first, before he shrugs. "Don't need to get ready."  
  
"Then either you can help me, or take a walk, before the other admins realize you aren't doing anything and give you a mission. Wouldn't be unlike them to take you away from placement trials."  
  
"Fine," Gary sighs, before turning back to True. "You need help walking, too?"  
  
But True shakes her head, still keeping me in her arms. "I'm fine. Just... lead the way."  
  
Cassidy and I share a long look as we leave the empty room, careful to avoid the scratch marks on the floor.


	48. Chapter Forty-Five

The closest empty office is not the ideal place for True to decompress, but it's a hell of a lot better than staying out in the open for any passerby to see. The tears had stopped a while ago, but trapped in her shaking arms I still can't quite believe that she's alright, not just yet. Her nose is buried in my shoulder, and I hum and murmur in her ear. It doesn't matter what I sing, or what I say, because I'm not paying attention and, really, she isn't either. It's something else for her to grab onto.  
  
I can hear Gary and Cassidy's hissed conversation—"If she can't even hold herself together," "She was attacked by a  _Golbat_ , you would have been startled, too," "Why don't we just throw in the towel now"—so I hum louder. I hum as I check her shoulders for marks, for tears, for anything—I don't know if it's a new technique of Sherri's, or if Rocket uniforms have always been durable, but there are only a few torn threads. True flinches when I brush my paw against the impact sight. She's still tense even as she looks at me.  
  
If I hadn't been staring right at her, I wouldn't have known she was saying anything. And if I hadn't stopped humming, I wouldn't have heard her words. I still don't, not really, catching only imprints, thoughts half-realized.  
  
I don't turn my head when I hear the sound of a Pokéball opening, or when Gary murmurs something else under his breath. From the corner of my eye I see Cassidy settling herself beside True, gently placing her head on True's lap.  
  
"We're safe now," she says gently. "You have nothing to fear here."  
  
It's a strange thing to say when we're right in Team Rocket's headquarters, when we can't separate friend from foe. But we're in this tiny room which must have been an office, a long time ago, with weak sunlight streaming in through dirty windows, without anyone else around but the four—five—of us.  
  
<<We will protect you.>> Michaela's words echo in my head and it's strange, but sometimes I feel as though it's getting to be a familiar sensation.  
  
The Kadabra chuckles.  
  
If there's a clock in here, it's hidden, or I'm not looking hard enough. But the time finally comes when True lifts her head and stands up, bracing herself against the wall as she rubs the corners of her eyes with her hand. "Sorry. About… that."  
  
Gary doesn't look at her, and scuffs the floor with the toe of his boot. "You ready to get out of here, then?"  
  
There's no light in her eyes, only a reserved hesitance, but True nods, holding me close. "Yes. I'm… sorry, for—"  
  
"There's no need to apologize," Cassidy interjects, just as Gary opens his mouth to reply. "We're all handling this in our own ways. You're doing fine."  
  
Gary mutters something low under his breath. Cassidy growls, lightly slapping her tail against the ground.  
  
"What we need to do is get information on what's happening around here," I say, adjusting slightly to better face outward. "Maybe that means brushing shoulders with more Rockets."  
  
"Which ones, though?" True asks quietly. "There are some of us here, but the others—"  
  
"May be against us. We're fighting blind," I hiss, looking right into Gary's eyes. "Do you know anything?"  
  
"All I know is that there's that test we have to prepare for." Gary swipes the bulky hat off of his head and runs his fingers through his dark hair. "The closer we get to the inside, the more information we'll be able to get. That means doing well in that battle."  
  
It's the crux of Chris's plan—get close, get as much information as we can from wherever we can. And then, when the time is right, we strike, using their system to strike a fatal blow. Just from that small battle I knew that Gary was a powerful trainer, if a reckless one. I could see why Chris—why the League—would want to use a trainer like Gary. He'd do what he was told, come hell or high water.  
  
I'm too far away to see if Cassidy still has her scars, if she'll keep them.  
  
"Just don't have another meltdown and we'll be fine," Gary says, finally looking up at True. "And it'd probably be best if we stayed away from each other. If we keep meeting like this, people may get suspicious."  
  
How is it that this boy can be so infuriating, so difficult to get along with, and still manage to have a point? "What're we supposed to do if we need you then, send smoke signals?"  
  
<<I thought the nature of this assignment called for discretion.>>  
  
"Take a joke," I mutter. Michaela chuffs.  
  
Gary's already turned for the door, his hand hovering over the knob. "You ever get that psychic-type?"  
  
True nods. "An Exeggcute."  
  
"He should be able to contact Michaela. Maybe he can even do it from his ball." When Michaela shakes her head, he sighs. "Send him out so they can meet, and then—"  
  
"Hyde's not here with me." True says.  
  
Gary whips his head around, eyes wide at first. They narrow when they settle on her belt. "Why don't you have him with you? Who  _did_  you bring?"  
  
True looks down at the floor. "Everyone else. I need—"  
  
"You need a psychic-type for communication. The end. If something happens to you and we don't know, how the hell—"  
  
I can already feel True start to shake, but before I can do anything Cassidy has stepped in front of Gary. Her tail slaps the ground in warning. "You need to keep your voice down and stay calm, before anyone hears us."  
  
<<No one is nearby.>> Michaela sighs, threading her nails through her long mustache. <<But I cannot guarantee that will always be the case.>>  
  
He scoffs, slamming the hat back onto his head. "Staying calm isn't going to help anything if we don't know what the hell we're doing. You know this is a life-or-death situation, right?"  
  
"The most important thing," Cassidy repeats, "and stay calm." She turns to True and blinks. "Can you do that?"  
  
True nods, weakly. But it's there and I sigh with relief. "Thank you."  
  
Cassidy nods with a small smile before turning back to Gary. "We really do need to work together if we're going to succeed. So maybe—"  
  
"I'm going to do this by myself," Gary says, and plucks a ball from his belt. Cassidy doesn't even get time to finish her sentence before she's absorbed into her ball in a flash of red. "If this is what I have to do, so be it."  
  
I see red long after Cassidy has vanished.  
  
"See you on the battlefield," he says, ripping the door open.  
  
<<He'll be calmer when he sees you.>> Michaela shakes her head and waves a clawed hand in farewell before softly closing the door behind them.   
  
I drop to the ground as True pulls her hair back into her hat. She looks washed-out now, even with her face flushed and her eyes wide and panicked. I move in front of her. She doesn't lean towards me, doesn't even look at me, never moving her eyes from the door knob.  
  
"What he just said," I say carefully, "wasn't right. So let's—"  
  
"He's not even… worried?" she asks. "He seems so... okay."  
  
"He's worried," I say softly. "But like hell is he going to let anyone see that he is."  
  
The answer must satisfy her, because she folds her arms over her chest. "Do  _you_  think I have brought Hyde with us?" True asks quietly.  
  
I can't deny that it would be a hell of a lot easier to have access to whatever "psychic network" existed. But there's a difference between knowing how to access that network and how to handle that information once we have it—I don't know much about Hyde, but from the little I've seen of the motor-mouth Exeggcute… "He can't shut up," I say softly. "I don't even know if he has a brain-to-mouth filter."  
  
"But if we can't access it—"  
  
"Let Gary worry about getting the information," I say immediately, and look up at her. Let Gary play the hero. Let me be selfish and keep True as far away from harm as I can keep her. "Right now, we're going to focus on not blowing cover, and keeping ourselves safe. Okay?"  
  
The nod comes hesitantly, slowly, but I take it as a victory anyway. True adjusts her hat and looks toward the door, her fingers hovering over her belt. "If we have to battle… what should we do?"  
  
I've seen True fall apart more times than I can count. I've cleaned off her tears and stayed with her through her darkest nights. But I've also seen her stand confidently on the battlefield, commanding her team with a fire that reminds me of the tiny girl I had first met, so many years ago. I've seen her claw her way back up and get brought back down again, and get back up. And get back up.  
  
"We do what you do best," I say, and smile. "Fight."  
  


* * *

  
"Lucia's Drowzee can no longer fight," the referee says. "Oak wins."  
  
There's a mixture of groans and cries from the crowd. Even though I'm squished between two grunts, and even though I have to stretch to see above the raised platform constructed in the middle of the open room, I can see Gary's confident smirk as the young girl recalls her Drowzee and jumps back onto lower ground. The Ninetales at his side is practically humming his pleasure, golden fur bleached of color from the bright overhead lights. His lips are stretched thin in a tight smile as he raises his head, a perfect mirror of his trainer.  
  
"Anyone brave enough to take on my Ninetales?" Gary yells, stretching his arms out above his head.  
  
Just an hour ago, this space had been buzzing with grunts proudly boasting their skills. Now, though, Gary's challenge is left unanswered; I hear only murmurs and the growls of younger grunts eliminated rounds ago clawing for a space up front to see the action.  
  
Archer and Ariana sit off to the corner, in sleek silver chairs. Archer stands, adjusting his lapel. "If that's all, then—"  
  
"Hang on a sec," Ariana purrs, propping a thin leg onto the newly-vacated seat. "I want to see one more of Fargone."  
  
We'd had to fight four rounds with Jackson, quickly eliminating several grunts, before vanishing into the crowd. It had worked, and we had been content to see the fighting styles of the other Rockets. The younger ones favored hack-and-slash; the older ones had had some strategy, but lacked good execution. These were kids who had tried to emulate the flashy battles on TV without understanding the mechanics, and they sure as hell didn't understand their Pokémon.  
  
The sudden room around us is dizzying after being squashed by bodies. I feel a hundred pair of eyes weigh heavily on the two of us. True looks up, slightly shaky, and stares wide-eyed at Ariana. "M-Me?"  
  
"Unless you have a sibling here no one told me about," Ariana says. "Get up there to fight with Oak."  
  
True looks over to me, open-mouthed. I press against her neck and murmur, "It'll just be that Ninetales. And it's tired."  
  
"Don't make me ask again, Fargone," Ariana hisses. "Battle now, or you forfeit. If you do the latter—"  
  
"I'll battle," True says softly.  
  
The crowd parts for us. The tile is slick from the latest cleaning, and I have to fight to stay balanced. True, with her new pair of dark shoes, slips only once, and manages to keep herself from falling. Her hands shake over the Pokéballs on her belt.  
  
Maybe I had expected another shy glance, or at least a sense of familiarity. There is none. Gary's smirk seems almost cruel as he says, "I'll take it easy on whoever you send out."  
  
The Ninetales beside him grunts, raising two long tails.  
  
Who can we even use? The ceilings are too low, so Clara would be a sitting duck. Jackson had fought in most of these battles, and while he's strong, he can only go on so much longer before something happens. Minka's at a natural disadvantage against a fire-type. My eyes drift to the scorch marks left behind. I have to repress a shudder as I look up at True. "Wilkes could put it to sleep, and that should be enough—"  
  
"Trust me," True says softly, and throws the Pokéball.  
  
Britt materializes in a flash, and blinks rapidly. Tail fluffed and ears twitching, she turns towards True with narrowed eyes. "An actual battle for once? Color me shocked."  
  
"Can you trust me?" True asks, stronger and more determined.  
  
Britt looks long and hard at True before turning her back on her, leaning forward toward Gary. "Show me if I can."  
  
Grunts murmur all around us. When I turn around, Ariana is staring at us, her hands folded leisurely in her lap. Archer, still standing, has his eyes on Gary. "Begin the match."  
  
"It doesn't matter if she has a type advantage, Boston," Gary says, "we'll get her. Quick Attack!"  
  
There's no time to react. Boston streams forward in a flash of gold, slamming his head into Britt's chest. Britt slams hard on the ground a few feet away from us but flips back up onto her belly, baring her teeth.  
  
"Don't give it any room to respond, keep using Quick Attack!"  
  
Boston streaks forward—  
  
"Catch it!"  
  
Britt only has enough time to jump out of the direct line of fire—tails slam against her face, but she's able to grab onto one before Boston can react. True doesn't have to give a command; this close, there's no escaping the Water Gun that Britt fires directly into the back of his neck.  
  
The Ninetales drops, and Britt's in the air, firing another Water Gun.  
  
"Confuse Ray, hurry up!" Gary yells.  
  
Dripping wet and snarling, Boston lifts all nine of his long tails—each tip glows. I only look away when I start to see colors blur together, and cover my eyes. Something falls to the ground and someone shouts something and suddenly something icy and wet hits me. I land hard on the ground, chilled, and it's only then that I open my eyes.  
  
Britt staggers on her feet, holding her head in her paws. She spits out blasts of frothing water, but none make their mark—Boston evades each and every one with ease, keeping his tails curled into each other.  
  
"You have to close your eyes, Britt!" True yells. "Shake it off!"  
  
"No time," Gary growls. "Trap her down with a Fire Spin!"  
  
The bright ring of flame wraps around Britt before erupting into a column, arcing toward the ceiling. It's small, contained, and Boston is so much smaller than an Arcanine, but suddenly the slick tile could be smooth sand—  
  
That could be Al snarling in the inferno—  
  
"Withdraw!" True yells. "And spin around!"  
  
That could be Chris trying to get to Al, and who knows if she can even hear True, who knows if Al could have heard Chris—  
  
But with a yell, the fire dissipates. There's a ring of soot where Britt stands now, a little charred but clear-eyed and growling. True's command is just coming off her lips before the arc of water sprays Boston again; the Ninetales skids on the floor, stopping just short of colliding into True. This close, I can feel the water dripping onto the floor, a puddle that even Boston's long locks can't hold onto.  
  
Britt falls onto both knees, panting, but looks up with determined gold eyes.  
  
Boston stumbles onto his feet, snarls something under his breath—  
  
And then collapses onto the ground.  
  
I'm looking for breathing, I'm looking for any sign of life—but Boston raises his head if not his body, taking deep shuddering breaths. Gary stares for one long moment before recalling the Ninetales into his Pokéball, running his fingers into his dark hair. "Lucky shot," he says.  
  
True is panting too, now, meeting eyes with Britt. "Will he be okay?"  
  
Gary doesn't answer.   
  
Instead, he turns to face the approaching Archer, whose eyes are gleaming. "It was a fine battle," he says, a thin smile on his face. "You've certainly met my expectations. It doesn't surprise me at all that you both would have four gym badges."  
  
When I turn, Ariana is still in her chair, gazing at me with a cruel smile.  
  
"Those of you who were able to win at least two battles will follow Ariana and Mr. Oak to the third briefing room, where you will be split into teams. It's time we begin to give you all some field experience."  
  
Gary's eyes widen. "Already?"  
  
Field experience?  
  
"You're a new recruit," Archer says simply, "but you have plenty of talent. A good command over your Pokémon. Given time, I could certainly see you lead a group of your own. Perhaps even to the Seafoam Islands. But for now, you'll be working with Ariana. Don't fail."  
  
Catching Pokémon for Team Rocket? Looting? I chance a look at True, but she's staring intently at Britt. The Wartortle blinks once, twice, before huffing, extending a clawed paw.  
  
"I'd suggest you all get going. You'll have time to prepare tonight, and will set off in the morning for your destination. Dismissed."  
  
Do we move? Should we? True turns her head toward Ariana, who slips out of her chair and comes over to us with an arched brow. "You sure you know what you're doing, Archer?"  
  
"Please leave training the new recruits to me," Archer says. "And to my new training partner."  
  
Partner?  
  
True looks just as confused as I do, because she stands up straight, fingers curled over Britt's ball. "Sir?"  
  
"You'll be assisting me in training them, Fargone," Archer says simply. "It seems you have a penchant for unorthodox battling strategies. We could use that in this organization." He raises a brow. "Unless you'd rather join Oak and Ariana?"  
  
True squeezes her eyes shut. Britt looks over to me and mouths something, but I miss it—I'm too focused on the tiny boy who's pushed his way out into the front, whose Pidgey had been eliminated so quickly in the first round.  
  
"I'll... stay here," True says.  
  
A clawed paw finds its way heavily onto my shoulder. I look up to see Britt standing right beside me. "This is fucked up," she mutters under her breath.  
  
"Did you aim for me with that Water Gun, or were you just confused?" I reply.  
  
"You don't get to blame me for confusion," she says, swiping my ear with a low chuckle.  
  
Archer straightens himself. "Those of you not going off with Ariana and Oak will be staying here with me and Fargone for some desperately needed training." He pauses, then scoffs. "Unless there are a few of you who would like to serve Team Rocket by joining the custodial staff."  
  
Silence from the crowd.  
  
"You'll be dismissed for an hour to get something to eat and to retrieve any Pokémon you might have left with the Nurse. At the end of that hour, you'll return here for instructions. Bring your best Pokémon."  
  
I don't see any other familiar faces. The crowd departs from the room with murmurs and backwards glances, lips tight and fists trembling. I catch myself sparking and only stop when True flinches from the sudden release of static electricity.  
  
"You're free to have a break as well, Fargone," Archer says. "I would suggest bringing a battle-ready team."  
  
His boots click on the slick floor as he leaves. Archer pauses only for a moment at the entryway to call for a janitor, to clean away the smears of ash left behind from the battle. We don't leave until the man has already taken a wet mop onto the floor, has started to scrub.  
  
Even then, Britt has to push for her to leave.  
  
The hallways are not empty, but save for the scuffling of boot on tile, it's quiet. Several heads turn in our direction as we approach, eyes narrowed with suspicion and interest. True turns away from them and presses onward. She's moving too quickly for me to jump onto her, so I stay right by her feet, right alongside Britt.  
  
"If we only have a little break, you need something to eat," the Wartortle says. "There should be a break room on this floor."  
  
We eventually find one, a small room with windows facing the city. Tables and chairs are set up in a haphazard fashion. The room is empty save for a pair of grunts, sharp-faced and heavy-eyed, who stare at us with interest. Britt growls threateningly, her tail fluffing behind her, until they avert their eyes and start whispering to each other instead over boxed dinners.  
  
Had we missed that memo? Was there food somewhere in this place?  
  
It's only when I hear drawers opening that I look up to see Britt searching through the lower pantry doors. True turns her head, eyes narrowed, and says, "We shouldn't be searching through those things."  
  
"It's a break room, we're here, there has to be  _something_ ," the Wartortle says. She pulls out interesting things, at least—half-burnt candles and flashlights, bits of pipe, a few boxes that rattle when Britt shakes them. It doesn't take her long to find a fridge hidden away, and before I can even begin to chastise her she's pulled two apples out, red and glistening.  
  
"There wasn't a name on them," Britt says, and hands one to True.  
  
She takes it hesitantly, brushing her fingers against the red skin. "Thank you."  
  
"You have your Wartortle trained to fetch?" one of the grunts snickers.  
  
"Does it better than my Rattata," the other says, fighting to push words out from the glob of food in his mouth.  
  
I expect Britt to react, to do something, but instead she huffs, cleanly breaking the apple in two. "Not too bad," she says, investigating the browning flesh. "I mean, they're bad, but it'll be something."  
  
"You're nicer than usual," I say, eyes narrowing. "Why."  
  
"I'm able to be plenty nice," she scoffs. "Just because I'm not a pussy-foot like you doesn't mean that I'm a stone-cold bitch all the time."  
  
She'd fooled me.  
  
She gives me no warning before throwing one of her apple slices in my face. I manage to catch it by the stem and take a passive bite. There's hardly any of the natural sweetness in the flesh, and no juice dribbles down. I must pull a face, because Britt snickers. "Not the fancy cuisine you expected? You gonna let it go to waste?"  
  
True shakes her head, biting deep into her own apple.  
  
"Sure is talkative," the tallest of the grunts says. He wipes a bit of soy sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans forward in his chair. "All your Pokémon like that?"  
  
True blinks, hesitant, as she swallows her bite of apple. "Just, um, just these two."  
  
"Grandma doesn't count?" Britt scoffs, taking another bite.  
  
"I was able to catch the tail end of one of your battles," the shorter man says. "Your Wartortle has some nice moves."  
  
"Thank you," True says, and bows her head. "Um. I'm sorry, I don't...?"  
  
"Wouldn't expect you to know who I was," the tallest grunt says. "Not bad enough to go with Archer for those 'mandatory lessons,' and not good enough to get in on the really good missions. Name's Drew."  
  
"True," she says, and takes another bite.  
  
"Erik, if we're introducing ourselves," the shorter grunt mutters. He takes a heavy swig from his water bottle. "Power like that, and you'll be primed for an Admin spot. You get a mission yet?"  
  
"She's teaching fucking morons how to battle," Britt says around her apple half.  
  
"They're not morons," I interject, even as Britt throws a stink-eye at me. "Or at least. They can't  _all_  be morons."  
  
Britt rolls her eyes.  
  
"I'm, um, actually with Archer," True says. "Teaching."  
  
"Huh," Drew says. "Good luck, I guess. New recruits are bad enough, but some of those guys... not the grunts I'd want to spend my time with, y'know?"  
  
"Whiny, self-entitled assholes," Erik mutters. "Just count yourself lucky Ariana's not with you. Her fucking Golbat likes to swoop down and scare the shit out of people."  
  
"Literally," Drew laughs.  
  
True meets my eyes. I shrug. She turns up from her apple and nods.  
  
My tail is up when Drew folds up his box and stands; my cheeks ache with electricity as he comes close to us. "Well, if you aren't with Archer, you should be able to get done at a reasonable hour. Maybe we'll go out for food or somethin'."  
  
Britt growls low in her throat, and even I can't stop myself from sparking.  
  
"Dude, chill out," Erik scoffs. "Don't scare the girl off."  
  
"I'm being  _friendly_ , dude," Drew scoffs.  
  
"Well maybe we'll just meet up in the cafeteria tomorrow. Second floor," Erik says, as he grabs Drew forcefully by the arm. "We'll see you when we see you," he says, and waves.  
  
"Hopefully sooner than later!" Drew calls.  
  
I don't relax until the two men have left the room. Britt doesn't relax at all, instead taking a massive bite out of her apple slice. "Fuckers."  
  
"It could've been worse," True says, spitting tiny black seeds into the palm of her hand. "I'm more worried about teaching."  
  
If we do our job, we'll be helping to train more Rockets into becoming a dangerous problem for society. If we don't, we run the risk of blowing our mission. Our team is strong, but can we face a horde of grunts? Of Rockets?  
  
"Any way you can spin this to your advantage?" Britt asks, licking around her mouth.  
  
True narrows her eyes. "Spin?"  
  
"Twist the system into working for you. You know." As she tosses the core into her mouth, Britt circles her claws. "Spin. Let them have what they want, and get a bit of what you want, too."  
  
It's probably the smartest thing I've heard her say, and it throws me for a moment. By the time I'm able to speak, Britt's finished with her apple, no trace remaining. I hold my uneaten core in my paws. "So what, try and get them working for us?"  
  
"You'll just be a grunt," Britt says, wiping her mouth with the back of her paw. "They won't follow you. Not yet." She looks up at True with a smirk on her face. "That assface wants his way of making himself useful, fine. But you get the bottom line to be loyal to you, and—"  
  
Loud laughter interrupts us. Through the tiny opening of the door, we can see a group of grunts careening down the halls, nearly falling over themselves with glee. "This isn't the place to talk about this," I whisper. "At the apartment."  
  
"Why am I not surprised," Britt says, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"It will happen," True says, and leans down. "But you may… you may be right about one thing. You want in your ball?"  
  
The look between True and Britt is long and heavy, and I'm just about to intervene before Britt nods. "But we're talking about it."  
  
"We're talking about it," True says, and recalls Britt with a flash.  
  
"I don't like the sound of where that's going," I mutter under my breath.  
  
True stands up from her chair, dusting off her dark pants. "Guess we can go to the place… it's the same, isn't it?"  
  
"They didn't say it wasn't, I guess," I say, and jump onto her shoulder.  
  
It only takes us a few minutes to retrace our steps back to the room. Archer stands directly in the center with his hands behind his back. A number of grunts are already sitting around the raised stage, picking at sandwiches and bottled water.  
  
"I'm glad to see you arrived so early, Fargone," Archer says. He pivots on his heel to face us, and smiles. "It gives me a chance to get to know you before our lessons."  
  
"There isn't… I'm not that interesting," True says hesitantly.  
  
He doesn't look convinced. Archer shakes his head with a chuckle, staring intently down at True. "You're the only child of one of our former administrators, you're taking the League challenge… on the contrary, Fargone. I think you're quite interesting."  
  
True and I meet eyes as Archer gestures us forward. Hands shaking, True follows, until the three of us are together on the platform.  
  
"My father always told me that the best way to get to know someone was to battle with them. There's only so much research one can do, after all, without getting close to the primary source." Archer pulls a black-and-yellow ball from off his belt, clutching it tight in a white-gloved hand. "Would you entertain me with a friendly match? For first blood? Perhaps with your Ivysaur?"  
  
First blood can be life's blood if you know just where to strike, and I have a feeling Archer knows exactly what he's doing. Static builds in my cheeks but I force it down, breathe it out. "Send out someone who can take a hit," I murmur.  
  
"Why Minka?" True asks, her hand on her belt.  
  
"It isn't often you see older Pokémon fighting is all," Archer says. He throws the ball up high into the air. It opens with a flash of light so brilliant that I have to close my eyes. When I open them, a Persian stands there, battle-scarred and hungry-eyed for battle.  
  
"Don't send Minka out," I breathe. "Wilkes can stand up to that thing."  
  
"Mouse afraid of the big bad cat?" the Persian hisses, lowering its tawny body onto the ground.  
  
The electricity builds and I release, in a small bolt that arcs up into the ceiling. The lights overhead flicker as True pulls a Pokéball off her belt, and throws it.  
  
Minka materializes in a flash of white, and my throat hardens. "Tell me you know what you're doing," I say, as Minka shifts on the ground.  
  
"I don't," True whimpers. "But I have faith."  
  
"Well said, dear," the Ivysaur says, and braces herself.  
  
"First blood?" True shouts, her hands shaking.  
  
"I'm a man of my word," Archer says. "Persian, start off with a Tail Whip."  
  
There's no grunt of assent, no nothing, only a lithe body bounding toward Minka. A long curled tail smashes against Minka's face, and she hisses as she throws vines out in front of her. They graze the Persian, and it growls as it arcs into the air, landing easily on its feet.  
  
"Another Tail Whip," Archer commands.  
  
"Minka, grab it when it comes close," True says. "And try a Leech Seed."  
  
The vines only grab the Persian's tail, and only when Minka's been attacked again. But the tiny yellow seed erupts from Minka's browned bulb, landing directly in between the Persian's shoulder blades. Tiny vines snake around the Persian's body—even from here I can see them tighten against its body. Minka lets the Persian go, and I watch as it stumbles back to its master, hissing with every step.  
  
"A very interesting tactic," Archer says. "How will we proceed next?"  
  
"Sleep Powder, Minka," True says softly.  
  
The hiss of blue powder snakes slowly over the battlefield, dissipating just before it reaches True or Archer. I feel my eyes getting heavy, though, and have to dig my nose into True's shoulder to keep away from the infected air.  
  
"Jump away from it," Archer commands, "and use Slash."  
  
 _No_.  
  
Even with a Leech Seed wrapped tight along its shoulders and arms, I can tell this Persian is strong—with a determined look it leaps upward in an arc, long claws extended, tongue lolling in front of sharp razor fangs, and falls, yowling—  
  
"Now grab it!"  
  
And quicker than I had expected her to, Minka does, wrapping her vines around the large Pokémon with a labored grunt. It doesn't stop the attack, not completely—the claws catch on the outermost petals of Minka's bulb.  
  
Minka howls, and my paws curl into fists. True gasps and nervously brushes her fingers against Minka's Pokéball.  
  
The vines slow the descent, but the Persian does land, crashing face-first and skidding against a blue-tinted floor. It twists around, snarling, trying to fight the tightly-encroaching vines from the Leech Seed—  
  
But, heavy eyed and swaying, it falls to the ground.  
  
It's only when I hear the shocked gasps that I realize that we aren't alone, not anymore. The few grunts who had been in the pavilion when we'd started had multiplied into several. Each and every eye was on Minka, breathing heavily, and on True, who stared back with wide eyes and disbelieving smile.  
  
"It seems my Persian wasn't enough against your older—"  
  
But he stops when Minka, trembling, is suddenly engulfed in a bright white light. I have to close my eyes against the harsh light, have to cover them with my paws. It's only until I hear gasps, until I hear True's shaky laughter, that I dare to open them.  
  
She's grown, tremendously so. Just moments ago the highest tip of her bulb hadn't been taller than True's waist—she's grown twice her size, with a huge flower that's only brown at the very edges. The large fern leaves fall against her back stunted, but a vibrant green with only a few tints of yellow. Her heavy footsteps echo in the enlarged space as she turns to face us, panting and wincing.  
  
And when she sees us, she smiles and laughs, a rumbling sound that almost makes me cry.  
  
True does, with happy shaking breaths as she bounds over to Minka. Her head doesn't fit in True's arms, not anymore, but Minka pulls her into a tight embrace with her vines. "I'm alright," she says, her voice a bit deeper than before but it's still Minka,  _still Minka_. "You were wonderful."  
  
" _You_  were wonderful," True says, brushing Minka's forehead with a shaking hand.  
  
And it's Minka who notices Archer approaching, who lifts her head up proudly as she stares at the blue-haired man. Archer chuckles and bows his head as, without throwing the tawny cat a sideways glance, recalls his Persian. "A magnificent evolution, and a good battle. I was flawed to not take your Ivy—Venusaur, seriously." His eyes narrow as he places the Persian's Pokéball back onto his belt. "You can be assured I won't do such a thing again."  
  
Ice drips down my spine, and I look to Minka. Her dark red eyes have narrowed, but the smile's still there on her face, and even if I can't catch the words she whispers, I'm comforted.  
  
Archer turns his head to the crowd. "I hope you were paying attention to our battle. Pair up and release your Pokémon. It's time we begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the Q&A! You can find part one [here](http://s7.zetaboards.com/Nuzlocke_Forum/single/?p=9176541&t=8810395), and part two [here](http://s7.zetaboards.com/Nuzlocke_Forum/single/?p=9177227&t=8810395)!


	49. Chapter Forty-Six

There are about fifty grunts with us during that first workshop. By the third day, there are only thirty—the rest have been pulled out on missions of their own. I catch words like "petty theft" and "robbery" and "Pokémon banking" down hallways between breaks, and press closer against True, as if I'm the one in danger.  
  
Is Cassidy alright? Is Gary?  
  
Will we be?  
  
Archer's sharp voice pulls me out of my head. Two Beedrill are slumped on the ground, wings draped over their long, blood-streaked bodies. Their Trainers stand on opposite sides with their hands clenched, each wearing snarls and biting out words. I don't hear them clearly, not at first, but I see Archer come forward, only just avoiding stepping on one of the Beedrill's legs. "First blood means  _first blood_. We cannot afford to replace Pokémon right now."  
  
"We make the Pokéballs," the grunt to the left scoffs.  
  
That could be me out there. That could be any of us. Are we so easily replaced?  
  
"Until we come up with an efficient way to raise multiple Pokémon to their maximum power, we cannot kill what Pokémon we have. Since you've proven yourself incapable of understanding this, you'll join the custodial staff. Immediately."  
  
By the end of the third day, there are twenty-one grunts.  
  
For the most part, Archer stands on top of the platform, the better to keep his eyes on everyone at once. Maybe it's Britt's influence or maybe True just doesn't want to stay near Archer—and I can't blame her for that—but True takes to weaving through the crowd instead, offering small tips in her own way. Whenever there's an odd number of grunts, it's usually True who takes to battling, gently critiquing and encouraging.  
  
"You just have to focus on one spot," True says, as a younger kid recalls his Mankey. "Try and study your, um, your opponent. That'll help you."  
  
There are still teams of Pokémon battling against each other, ramming their heads against bodies and sinking their teeth into legs and arms. No one is paying attention to the four of us. The boy looks around warily before leaning into True, so close that I have to concentrate on what he asks. "And my Mankey'll be okay, right?"  
  
"She just needs some rest," True whispers back, and clasps him on the shoulder. "You're doing a lot better since we started. Good work."  
  
The boy smiles.  
  
"That will be enough for today," Archer suddenly calls out. "You'll meet in this space as usual. Leave your Pokémon with the nurse."  
  
Battles stop right in their tracks—I see several Butterfree and even a Spearow be recalled mid-attack. The twenty-one grunts leave clumsily as the clock outside chimes. Four, five, six. Britt watches them go with a huff, and as the last few men walk happily out of the room, she looks up to us. "Can we treat ourselves to something good tonight? Like pizza?"  
  
True laughs, already digging into her large pockets for her keys. "We had plans for that spaghetti tonight... but we did really good, so I don't see why not."  
  
"A moment, Fargone."  
  
True holds onto me tightly as Archer toes the edge of the stage, hands held tight behind him. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."  
  
We hadn't done anything to give ourselves away, had we? We'd fought, and we'd taught, and if anything these grunts had somewhat-stronger Pokémon now, a few skills on their belt. "Is—did I do something wrong?" True asks, standing up straight.  
  
His brows raise over slightly-widened eyes—and it isn't much, but it's the first time I've seen Archer taken off-guard. "Hardly. Those who have been willing to improve have been improving. You've been helpful."  
  
"Oh," True says. "Um. Okay."  
  
"I've been called to assist one of our squads down near the abandoned power plant. Apparently they've found something of interest there." Archer's eyes meet mine for one heavy moment before they turn to True. "Tomorrow, you'll be teaching by yourself."  
  
"Me?" True blurts, twisting her hands together. "B-By myself?"  
  
"Unless you'd rather one of our upper admins take over," Archer says. "In which case, you'd be invited to come along with me."  
  
Is there even a "best case scenario" for this? Leave the main tower and put ourselves in danger? Or train the bottom line into becoming potential weapons? I look down at Britt, who shrugs back at me before leaning down to untangle bits of fur in her tail.  
  
"Respectfully, sir... um, I think I'd be better off here."  
  
Archer nods, stepping off the platform. "Very well. You'll have command of the grunts. I wish you luck." He gets to the opened doors before he stops, turning around. "And enjoy your pizza."  
  
None of us breathe until Archer is out of sight.  
  
"Huh," Britt says, tilting her head to the side. "That was easier than I thought it was gonna be."  
  
It should have been  _much_  harder to earn this level of respect or power. My eyes narrow. "We'll have to be on the look-out."  
  
"For what, jealous assholes?"  
  
"Shh," True says. "I can't... let's get out of here. I think I saw a pizza place a block down from the apartment."  
  
It takes us half an hour for True to go into the changing rooms on the second floor, change out of her clothes, and come back out looking like a girl I can recognize. It's difficult to look past the all-black uniform and the heavy black hat—now that they're off, I can see a new wariness in True's expression, a tightness to her shoulders that hadn't been there before.  
  
"We can order it in if you want," I say, as we slip out of the Silph building. "We don't have to get it."  
  
But True shakes her head. "It's fine. I'm... I'll be fine."  
  
We get lucky—there's hardly a line and it's just a fifteen-minute wait from order to pick-up. Two boxes, one block, and a flight of stairs later, the seven of us circle on the carpeted floor. Three days has given us enough time to rearrange furniture to accommodate Minka's larger size, but I still end up having to sit on Minka's large forearm. There's one advantage, at least—Minka brings the slices over to me.  
  
"It's a heavy responsibility," Minka says, licking sauce off of her vine. "But you seemed to handle yourself well, from what I could see."  
  
Jackson looks up from his mess of cheese and crust and grease, lips turned up in a smile. "I could battle, too!"  
  
"Not that kind of battling, kid," Britt says, dusting flour off her paws. "Teaching. Requires a delicate touch."  
  
Jackson's brow furrows. "You're not delicate."  
  
I have to fight not to snort into my cup of water. Minka doesn't bother, and laughs heartily.  
  
"It's only twenty-one, at least," True says, cleaning her face off with a napkin. "That's better than fifty."  
  
"Think of it this way," Wilkes says. "You'll be able to influence their training style. Perhaps this is for the best."  
  
"That's what  _I_  told her," Britt scoffs, grabbing another slice.  
  
"Now behave," Minka tuts. "There's no need for bickering here. Not now."  
  
It takes an hour for everyone to finish eating, and ten minutes to clean everything up. Only Minka and Clara decide to sleep in their balls tonight, and only Britt sleeps outside of the bedroom. Jackson and Clara sleep in the bedroom with True and I, with Jackson curled up at the end of the bed and Clara nesting in the corner.  
  
"Are you sure everything's going to be alright?" True finally asks, as she slips underneath the covers.  
  
"Everything's going to be just fine," I say, as I curl up beside her head.True is out within a matter of minutes, but I'm too awake to sleep at ten. At eleven, I'm still tossing and turning. Either there's too much heat from Jackson's tail, or there's footsteps in the apartment above us.  
  
I take to watching the alarm clock by 11:37.  
  


* * *

  
It's an unspoken rule that the uniform is only worn inside the Silph building or out on mission—otherwise, it's stored in the locker rooms on the second floor. There's always a steady trickle of Rockets changing in and out of garments, either clocking in for the day or slipping off into town. True had always been quick to swipe her clothes and slip into the restroom to change, with only me for company. I'm still nibbling on an apple True had swiped from the counter as True slips into the signature black-and-gray uniform, adjusting her boots and belt.  
  
I hadn't realized how hungry I had been until I'm down to just the apple core, and by then True has left the toilet stall and started packing up her civilian clothes. Several women pass by, oblivious, as they slip into grunt uniforms or long white coats. There's still half an hour to go until we're supposed to meet the others in the training hall. We have time to kill.  
  
Well. We have time to  _calm_.  
  
"You'll be alright," I say, tossing the core and seeds into the nearest trash can. "Between you and me—"  
  
"And Britt."  
  
I can't do anything but stare.  
  
"She just wants to help," True says. "And besides, it might be... it might be good for us. If she feels useful. You know?"  
  
She's useful as a fighter, I'll give her that much. But why should I trust someone so hot-headed, so infuriating, so...  _ugh_.  
  
"Just trust me," True says, and releases Britt in a flash of white.  
  
Since when has Britt wanted to help anybody? My eyes narrow as I look down at her. The smirk doesn't leave her face even as we step into the hallway, where five grunts are already assembled. They eye us warily before looking back toward the door. Probably expecting Archer.  
  
But in a half hour, when everyone has assembled and there's only True on the platform, they get antsy. People start standing, crossing their arms and swaying from foot to foot, searching around the room as though Archer is simply disguised, or hiding.  
  
I can't blame them, really. If I'd been promised one thing and delivered another, I wouldn't know what to think.  
  
"Is Archer running late or something?"  
  
"He's  _never_  late, he's the most punctual person I know."  
  
"Archer, um," True starts, "he had to leave. I'm going to be the one teaching everyone today."  
  
I make eye contact with the boy from the other day, and can't help but see the small smile on his face. I smile back at him.  
  
But he's the only one smiling.  
  
"You mean we're being taught by some... some new grunt?" a blonde woman scowls. "What the actual fuck?"  
  
"She's just a  _kid_ ," someone else scowls.  
  
"I have, um," True starts, "four badges—"  
  
"I don't  _care_ , she's a newbie!"  
  
We can't lose everyone before we even begin. I can already see True starting to doubt herself, as she hesitantly raises her hands up. No one pays attention to her. Even the boy is looking between the other arguing grunts, doubt flickering across his face.  
  
"Say something," I mutter. "You can do this."  
  
"If they won't listen," True begins, before a tall man in the back stands up angrily.  
  
"There's a mission qualifier with my name on it." With a snarl, he starts adjusting the Pokéballs on his belt. "I don't know about you idiots, but I'm out of here."  
  
No one reacts until the man is just to the open doors—and when they do, it's to cover their heads from the spray of water that fires from Britt's mouth. It hits the man square on the temple, and he whips around, snarling.  
  
"You wanna play tough-guy, you asshole?" Britt snarls, standing up straight. "You come do it to my fucking face."  
  
"Shit's about to go down," one of the girls near the front whispers excitedly, and pulls out a disposable camera.  
  
"Try and stop me then," the man says, and continues down the hallway.  
  
Britt's just about to lunge for him, but True bends down, clasping the Wartortle's small shoulder with a hand. "Let him go," she says softly. "If he doesn't want to take this seriously... I can't stop him."  
  
Britt whips around, eyes narrowed. "You can't, or you won't?"  
  
"Won't," True says. "There's no use fighting a losing battle."  
  
When had she gotten to be so wise? And how had I not recognized it sooner?  
  
"All those sounds your Wartortle is making," a wide-eyed boy near the front says. "Is it... is it trying to talk to you?"  
  
"Spin this," Britt says, and walks back to stand at True's side.  
  
She takes a breath. "Her name is Britt," True says slowly. "She's saying... they're not very nice things, but um... I can understand her, because she and I... we kind of, you know. Know each other. Well enough to understand each other. And that... helps in battle, because—"  
  
"Bullshit," says a kid in the corner. He stands up and adjusts the huge hat on his head. "You're only up here because you beat us all in battle, but if we had strong Pokémon like you do, I bet it'd be one of us up here. All we have are—are Rattata and Ekans, and maybe a Pidgey, nothing cool like a Wartortle."  
  
Her hands are shaking at her sides but there is only surprise in her eyes, just the tiniest flicker of fear. "Didn't you all get licenses? Or starter Pokémon?"  
  
A girl near the front scoffs. "Trainer licenses are expensive enough without enrolling in the Starter Program. I'm the only kid in my neighborhood who could get a license. Forget traveling to Pallet Town to meet some stuffy old professor."  
  
Starters were bred for one purpose and one purpose only: to help beginning trainers put their best foot forward on their journeys. It's nothing I hadn't heard before—hell, I'm sure I had  _said_  some of this before. But it  _was_  expensive, and it  _was_  far away. I had seen so many kids make the journey to Pallet Town, or be lucky enough to be born near there, to receive their Starters. Most of them had come back.  
  
What did that mean for the kids who started with weak Pokémon that could be found in their backyard? If they didn't have the money for a specially-bred Starter?  
  
Is this the reason they're even here?  
  
I think True is thinking along the same lines, because she stares at me wide-eyed before looking back up. "That doesn't... that's probably true. But just because a Pokémon is... is specially bred, that doesn't make it better. Maybe it's stronger at first, but it isn't..."  
  
"You don't get to talk for us," the boy sneers. "You got a Wartortle.  _And_  an Ivysaur. I bet you have lots of strong Pokémon that you could just buy, if you wanted to."  
  
"I... that's not important right now. Okay? It's not. Your Pokémon can be strong, too. I travel with my team, and we get stronger by battling. That's how anyone gets stronger." True steps closer to the edge of the platform, hands held out in front of her. "Look... you."  
  
Eyes turn to see the slight teenager quietly heading for the door. It's when he locks eyes with another grunt that he stops to turn and look at us, pulling his hat down over his eyes.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," True says gently. "But... You're the boy from the other day, right? How's your Rattata?"  
  
The boy had only made it as far as the door. Now he stares at True, arms crossed against his tiny chest. "Can't battle for a while still. Needs rest."  
  
It's still been a few days and the poor guy's still recovering? How hard had he been battling?  
  
"Do you… do you have any other Pokémon on you?" True asks softly.  
  
I'm expecting him to shake his head, to brush her off, to just leave without saying a word. But the boy nods his head, pulling out a tiny blue Pokéball from his pocket. "It's just a Zubat, but—"  
  
"You want to come," True begins—but she meets my eyes, and when I shake my head, she corrects herself. "Come here. Um. Please. And let it out of its Pokéball."  
  
The boy glares at us for several long moments before, reluctantly, he comes onto the raised platform. The Zubat is released in a flash of light and hisses, furiously beating its tiny wings. "Attack? Attack, Master?"  
  
I step forward hesitantly, trying to fight the nerves building in my belly. "We're not fighting. It's okay."  
  
"No fight? None?" the Zubat trills, turning its head toward the boy. "No fight?"  
  
The boy grits his teeth. "You expect me to fight something that has a type-advantage over me?"  
  
"We aren't fighting," True says. "How well, uh, how well do you know your Zubat?"  
  
"They gave it to me when I signed up. I didn't have a Pokémon," he says, and crosses his arms. "It's 'for my own protection' but it's weak and useless. The best thing it did was help me catch my Rattata, and even if that's a weak Pokémon too—"  
  
"It's only a weak Pokémon if you say it's a weak Pokémon," True says. She sits down on the floor, legs crossed, and takes off her hat—hair spills down along her shoulders, hanging limp. "It might not be a strong Pokémon, not yet… but that doesn't mean it's weak. That it can't grow up to be strong."  
  
"Master says… weak," the Zubat says softly. "I'm not weak."  
  
"I want you to look at your Zubat," True says softly. "And I want you to tell me everything about it."  
  
The boy scoffs. "Why should I?"  
  
"When you understand your Pokémon, and when you know their strengths and weaknesses… you can do better. In battle, or in anything."  
  
It takes me a second to recognize the hacky sack that a girl near the front starts to throw, but when I do, my jaw drops. "This is still stupid," the kid says, tracing the hacky sack's path with her eyes.  
  
"Someone once told me," True says, "that you have to learn to walk before you can run. This is walking."  
  
The girl doesn't respond.  
  
I see True's eyes flash as she sits taller. "Can I see that?"  
  
The hacky sack falls into the girl's open hand with a thud. She scowls. "I don't know,  _can_  you?"  
  
"May I?" True asks, her eyes narrowing. "Please?"  
  
"Bite me," she scowls, and tosses the hacky-sack up—  
  
The man behind her, a grizzly older man with a beard thicker than his hair, catches it easily, squeezing the blue-and-silver ball in his hand. "You want Archer to come back and hear what kind of playhouse we were making this?"  
  
"She gonna tell?" the girl scoffs.  
  
True starts to shake her head, but the man turns to her, slightly shaking his head. True blinks, but says nothing.  
  
"Maybe she will and maybe she won't. If she doesn't, you can bet Zapdos I'm gonna." With just a flick of his wrist, the hacky-sack goes flying. True fumbles for it, just managing to catch it with her fingertips, and holds it close to her. "Now pay attention."  
  
True doesn't say anything at first, just holds the hacky sack in her hand. But she stands up and brushes the dust off her pants before turning toward the boy on the stage and his Zubat. "Alright. Um. We're not going to be fighting each other today, but that doesn't… that doesn't mean we aren't training. In a way. I'm going to toss this hacky-sack between us, and your Zubat and... Casey are going to try and catch it."  
  
Britt scoffs and mutters something under her breath. I look over to True, who's smiling gently at me. "I trust you."  
  
Even True had said we wouldn't be fighting.  
  
For some reason, it's easier to find traction on the tile today than it had been the previous days. From down here I can't see over the heads of the people in the front, but for some reason that's almost better. It forces me to concentrate on the task at hand. I hear the hacky sack fall in True's hand repeatedly, and it's soothing, that rhythmic beat.  
  
When True had been little, she'd played this game with old rolled-up socks, with padded balls, with stuffed animals long past their prime and sentimentality. This tiled floor might as well have been grassy ground, the walls of the open room towering trees. We'd only ever done this with one Pokémon—she'd been too little to play with more. But two, well. That was a challenge.  
  
Could they see my unease? My hesitance? I look back at Britt, who only shrugs. It's True's uneasy smile that finally gives me some sort of strength as I lower myself onto all fours. "Just try and catch it," I say, and look up at the Zubat.  
  
The Zubat tilts his head, but finally nods, trilling under his breath.  
  
"And you and I," True says, kicking her discarded hat to the side, "we're going to try and keep them from catching it."  
  
"What's the point though?" the boy asks, even as he leans forward, hands open and waiting.  
  
"You'll see at the end," True laughs, and throws.  
  
It's hard to see the blue-and-silver hacky sack against the pale walls and the overhead lights. The first pass just skims by the Zubat, who screeches and flies away—I miss it by hairs and land on the ground, sure-footed, as the boy catches the sack. He throws it back long, so that True has to run to get it—I miss it again.  
  
It takes a few throws for the Zubat to learn that this is safe, that he's fine, and it's only then that he really starts to lunge for the flying ball. The two of us end up crashing against each other more often than not, and it doesn't take long for my side to start feeling sore.  
  
But on pass six, I snatch the ball up, falling onto the floor on my back with the hacky sack secure in my grip. There's a smattering of applause as I get up and throw it back to True, who's closest. On pass twelve I grab it again, rolling into the fall with the sack held gently in between my teeth. It tastes like sweat and I don't hold onto it long before passing to the boy, who's starting to almost  _laugh_.  
  
Pass fourteen, the Zubat grabs it in his teeth and flies up, his wings a blur. His large ears twitch as he flies back to his trainer, and drops the ball. The boy catches it with a trace of a grin as he throws it.  
  
Passes seventeen, twenty, and thirty-one are mine. Passes twenty-two and twenty-nine are Zubat's. By the time True catches the hacky sack and brings it down to her side, I'm panting and sore. But my heart is pumping, and I'm laughing as I walk back to True. She bends down to scratch the inside of my ear and I can't help the trill that sounds.  
  
"No more game?" the Zubat squeaks, as it lands onto his trainer's head.  
  
"Just a break," True laughs. She turns to her audience—some are smiling and laughing, others are rolling their eyes. But almost all of them are leaning forward, at least paying attention.  
  
"So um, even though we weren't battling, I think Casey and Zubat got some exercise. They were jumping, and flying, and they were practicing their aim—that's good for battles. If you play for a long time, you can work on endurance, both for them and for you. And, uh—"  
  
"Speed," a voice from the back rings out. "They got faster when you guys went faster. I, uh, I think."  
  
True smiles and nods. "They did, you're right. What else did we work on?"  
  
"They had to time right," another voice says.  
  
"They couldn't be jumpin' all around, because they'd get tired!"  
  
"The bond," the grizzled man says, eyes twinkling. "Between trainer and Pokémon."  
  
True's smile is so wide it could light up half of Saffron. "They're all right. Okay. So it's pretty small in here for all of us to play this game—but I'm thinking, just for today, we can work on precision. But the most important thing is that you have to learn about your Pokémon. And the best way to do that is to spend time with each other."  
  
"If we don't want to do it?" a reedy voice asks in the back.  
  
My eyes are on the grizzled man, who starts to move towards the back—but he catches a look of True's and it must satisfy him, because he backs down.  
  
I hear True sigh behind me. "Then don't. But I think it'd be fun to have as big a game as possible. And I bet your Pokémon could use some exercise."  
  
Laughter ripples around the group, but I still watch a lanky girl leave, arms forced into her pockets.  
  
True sighs, glancing over toward me. "There's nothing you can do," I tell her. "Let her go."  
  
She's not happy, I can tell by the tiny crease between her eyes. But she nods and turns to her audience, watches a few more Rockets stumble their way out of the room. But the majority stay. We have seventeen grunts looking up at us, mostly younger kids with a few well-tempered adults eager to learn how to handle their Pokémon.  
  
What could have brought them here, to Team Rocket?  
  
"So if everyone has their Pokémon out... um, this is better when we have a lot of room. Does anybody know of a big space we could play in?"  
  
"There's a little garden in the back of Silph," a boy near the middle says. "They say it's supposed to be for the more intensive training, but I don't think anyone's using it right now..."  
  
"If we took our uniforms off, we could get out of the city," an older woman says. "Though a mass of people all headed over to one place does sound pretty sketchy."  
  
True tilts her head to the side. "The garden sounds like a good idea, for now. And maybe later, if Archer doesn't come back soon, we can stray over towards Lavender? I think there's fishing there."  
  
Scare the marine population to death with the sudden surge of Pokémon and trainers. Right.  
  
"Best shot we got," the boy with the Zubat says.  
  
True nods, bringing a confident fist up. "Alright. That's what we'll do, then. Everyone, um... get ready to go?"  
  
"Take off!" someone shouts, and the cry is echoed throughout the wide room.  
  
There's only so much we can do with one hacky sack, but someone "miraculously" finds a bag of cheap Pokémon toys in one of the spare rooms. I don't even want to know. True looks uneasy, but she takes the bag gratefully, allowing herself to be led down to the bottom floor and into the Silph garden.  
  
There isn't much here, just a few trees and stone pathways cutting through a yellow-green lawn, a rock pool gleaming in the sunlight. But it seems to satisfy True, who struggles with untying the knots. Britt jumps up and wordlessly unties the bag, as if she'd been doing this her whole life. When I start to ask her about it, she just shakes her head and puts a claw over her mouth. Secret.  
  
Not even fifteen minutes have passed before our grunts— _our grunts_ —return in the garden, each accompanied by a Pokémon. The Zubat from earlier flies over our heads with a delighted shriek, arcing in the sky before returning to his trainer—and it's such a change from the timid little thing we'd met only two hours ago that I can't stop the laugh from bubbling up and out.  
  
"This is just like the game we played a little while ago, but it'll be with everyone." With only a bit of a struggle, True pulls out one bright-pink toy, which catches the eyes of several curious Meowth and Pidgey and smiles, tossing it experimentally in the air. "Trainers, we keep these away from the Pokémon. And Pokémon… you have to try and keep them away from us. That way, we'll all be, uh, working."  
  
"Just throw the shiny!" a Meowth trills.  
  
I doubt anyone can understand him, but people are laughing. People are  _laughing_  and it's such a change from before that True is beaming.  
  
"Alright! Um, so we'll play until I say stop, alright? And… go!"  
  
There's too much action to take in all at once—bodies fly into each other and toys bounce off of heads, are thrown against walls and the trunks of trees. It's a chaotic mess punctuated by cries and loud outbursts. And yet as True continues to throw toys, everyone seems to  _get it_ , almost at once.  
  
Even Britt seems to lose herself in it, changing from just introducing toys into the field of play to dashing through the crowd, leaping to snatch toys from their planned trajectories. I don't even have the heart to stop her; I'm too busy laughing at everyone else laughing, at True whose eyes are bright and whose smile can't seem to get any wider.  
  
"Okay, okay! Um, hang on a sec! Guys!"  
  
It takes a few minutes for the command to get through the field, but finally everyone pays attention. True gathers herself up, dropping the empty toy bag onto the ground. "Alright. So now that we kind of know the game, we'll try and work with our Pokémon. Um. Has anyone seen Britt?"  
  
"Right here!" Britt yells, coming forward with five toys tucked in her arms. I roll my eyes as the Wartortle comes up to us, dropping her prizes onto the ground by the toy bag. "Couldn't help myself."  
  
"Okay, so anyway." True bends down to pick up a toy, a powder-blue Buneary, and begins to toss it to the nearest grunt. "So what we'll do is—"  
  
" _What is going on here!_ "  
  
And everything stops. There's no shuffling feet, not even a surprised shriek.  
  
The gardens aren't large, but they had been big enough for everyone to run, to jump, to play. But now this patch of green-ish land seems so small, so constrictive. Britt's lip curls up and it's instinct, now, to jump up by True's belt, to hit the recall button, to see Britt dissolve into red with an angry cry. It's only one of many now as the crowd parts.  
  
The approaching man in white is not tall, not particularly broad, but commands the attention of everyone assembled. He is shorter than the grizzled man, but it's him who cowers, not this stranger. Sunlight reflects off his clean-shaven head as he bends down to pick up one of the toys—a dusty ball that squeaks in his powerful grip before it deflates—and tosses it to the ground.  
  
"I come back from a mission in Johto," the man snarls, "to see Team Rocket grunts,  _in their uniforms_ , playing with their Pokémon like children? Who is responsible for this!"  
  
I don't know why I expect silence, or non-action. But I see fingers pointing directly, accusingly, at True. Every muscle in her body tenses, and she grabs me and holds me tight to her. She's shaking so much, if I started shaking could she feel me—  
  
The man lumbers toward us, powerful shoulders back. His large nostrils flare from a much smaller nose as a dark brow furrows above tiny eyes. "Do you know who I am, little girl?"  
  
True's shaking her head and I'm baring my teeth, and I'm fighting to keep the electricity inside—  
  
"I'm Vympel, the Boss's second-in-command. I'm in charge of everything that goes on in this tower when the Boss is away. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember giving permission for this... play time." He spits the words out like they're poison, like he's an Arbok, and the second I think that is when I really see the sharpness to his eyes. "Who gave you the authority to do this?" he asks, voice rumbling.  
  
True's mouth opens and shuts, opens and shuts—there aren't even half words coming out, just fragments.  
  
One giant hand lifts itself up—  
  
And faster than I can react, before I can even think of throwing an attack, True bows her body, shrinking deep into herself. "Ar-Ar-Arch-cher. Archer, s-sir. Archer."  
  
His teeth are pointed and they look just like fangs when he opens his mouth, which is all the time, and  _oh Arceus_. "That prissy son of a bitch," Vymel growls, and shakes his head. "Giving command to a coward like you? Pathetic."  
  
There had been laughter in this garden, just a few moments ago. I could hear echoes of it. There's no trace of it now—eyes shy away and some people make a break for the building. There are flashes of red everywhere as Pokémon are recalled.  
  
"Well I don't care if it was Archer who gave you your authority. I'm cutting it now. You and that wimp Pokémon of yours can get onto the custodial staff. Clean laundry. Work more suitable for a girl like you," he sneers.  
  
If I could shock his face without harming True—without getting her into so much trouble—  
  
"I can take her, Vympel."  
  
And I swear, that voice after everything, it's like music.  
  
Sherri's face is the last thing I expect to see down here, but there she is, Preston perched on her shoulder. She doesn't make eye contact with either of us, instead keeping her eyes focused on a sneering Vympel. "If that's what you need," she finishes.  
  
Vympel's eyes narrow. "What has you interested in a coward like her?"  
  
"Well, if this girl can be taught how to do minor repairs, I can focus on more important things. Tailoring your clothes. Putting finishing touches on that new uniform you requested."  
  
Why isn't she looking at True? Or me? Not even Preston is throwing a glance our way, instead holding his tiny head up.  
  
"Keeping that girl out of your way means you can run a tighter ship, right?" Sherri says, looking around the garden. "No interference from her. No changes in your schedule."  
  
Vympel nods his head. "Fine. I'd say keep a tight leash on her, but it looks like she'll come when she's called. Eh, little Growlithe?"  
  
True's head falls. There's a splash on my forehead.  
  
"I'll take her now," Sherri says.  
  
There's a hesitant pause between the two of them; True's hands are held underneath her armpits, while Sherri's is extended, and I'm caught between elbows and breasts and I can't move, and I don't know if I want to. When True doesn't make a move, Sherri's dark hand falls. "You should remember the way," she says instead. "Follow me."  
  
When we part through the crowd, I try and meet each and every eye. I try not to spark at them. I try not to ask  _Why didn't you speak up?_  The grizzled man meets my eyes for a second, just one, but he looks away just like the rest of them.  
  
They're cowards. Not True.  
  
We don't speak as Sherri leads the way back to her office. Preston flies overhead, his feathers rustling with every flap of his wing. True's shaking, she's shaking, but Preston is chirping "Just a few turns now, we'll start in a bit."  
  
"You're not making things better," I hiss.  
  
"There's no 'making things better' here," Preston chirps.  
  
But there is, though. There always is. Isn't that why we're here in the first place?  
  
It seems like an automatic thing—us walking, doors opening, lights brightening with our entry into the room. Blues and greens are better at soothing than hard grays, dark reds. Sherri must have made some coffee, because I smell the bitter tang, the cream. Is Oak drinking his third pot right now? Is Kenta crushing beans for tomorrow's brew? How many beakers have been dropped, how many interns have scampered away into the tiny rooms?  
  
How is it that the lab, which has been home for so long, seems so similar to this cold place?  
  
When did traveling through hallways seem like a chore, rather than something completely natural?  
  
Sherri closes the door with a soft click, locks it, before turning to us. "Are... are you okay?"  
  
True slides down along the wall and falls heavy to the floor. burying her nose into my shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry I had to be so rough on you back there, I just thought... well," Sherri says, "it'd be better if you were with me, you know?"  
  
True can only sob in reply. Sherri doesn't ask questions after that.  
  
For a while, there's only the sound of True's breathing—panicked and rushed, heavy and lumbering. After a few minutes, Sherri sits down at her work bench. Something opens, then shuts. A bottle is opened, air escaping. Scissors slice fabric and a sewing machine threads it together again.  
  
Sherri doesn't flinch once as True starts sobbing, deep from the gut. She doesn't make a comment when I start to sing. She keeps me in time with snips and stitches but is, for the most part, silent and unobtrusive. I don't know whether to chastise her for it or to thank her.  
  
It's easy to lose track of time here in this tiny room. It feels like eons have passed when True's breathing finally evens out, when she lifts her head and watches Sherri methodically measuring squares, scratching on notepads. She meets my eyes hesitantly and mouths something I can't catch, but it doesn't matter. "Are you okay?" I whisper.  
  
She shakes her head, but I can find comfort even in that. "You will be," I say, and nuzzle against her.  
  
It takes a few minutes for Sherri to look back at us, and when she does it's with a yawn. "I think we'll eat in here," Sherri says, lifting her arms high above her. "We'll let everything settle down, lie low. I could actually teach you how to sew some things? You might even know a bit, since you're a trainer—"  
  
"Sherri?" True asks weakly.  
  
Sherri's scissors glint in the lamplight as she sets them down on the table. She turns to face us face-on, one hand massaging the small of her back. "Yeah?"  
  
"Um. Thank you. And I'm… I'm sorry."  
  
"You don't need to be," Sherri says gently. "You didn't break down in front of that monster."  
  
"You didn't either," she says weakly.  
  
"Well," Sherri says, "I have practice dealing with guys like that. You know? Anyway. The important thing now is you're safe, right?"  
  
I want to hug this girl.  
  
"You know, I wasn't lying about needing an assistant," Sherri says, smiling. "I bet you'd make a good seamstress. C'mere and grab a chair, I'll show you a few simple stitches."  
  
True doesn't move at first, but when she does, Sherri's soft smile hasn't faltered. True's unsteady on her legs but the chair is right there for her to grab. There isn't enough room for me in the space between True's lap and the table. I settle down on the floor right beside True, just within an arm's reach. Preston meets my eye from his perch and nods before burying his beak under his wing.  
  
"Now let's start from the beginning here... and one, and two..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious souls, Vympel was named for the Russian research company that designs, among other things, missles. One of their noteworthy creations is the Vympel R-73, which is also known by its NATO name AA-11 Archer.
> 
> This was originally going to be the last chapter before we headed into the two part climax, until I realized a) there was a lot I needed to cover in this chapter that sets up things in this arc and for the rest of the run, and b) I could combine the two parts into one. That gave me much more room to actually show a training scene... and then it blew up in my face. Almost literally. Things might seem kind of gratuitous now but I promise they have a payoff. Eventually. I swear.


	50. Chapter Forty-Seven

The first day, as Sherri had guided True through her beginning lessons, I had thought this would be an improvement.  
  
True doesn't shake in the locker room before she comes up to work anymore. Now she's smiling when she types in the pass code for the lock on the door. Sherri actually smiles when she turns in her chair, heavy-eyed and exhausted but clearly pleased to see us. There's laughter as Sherri tries to teach True simple stitches, and when we share our meals. The tiny room is cramped, even more so with True and I added into the mix. But it's liberating.  
  
It shouldn't be.  
  
Three days have passed. It’s better here in this dark room, putting in early hours and late nights, than it had been on that battlefield. But the cramped corners means there’s nowhere to hide, and with it just being the four of us, there is no one else to distract Sherri from asking questions. They’re not giant questions: small talk about the weather, of our families back home. In three days, I’ve learned that Sherri had lived in Saffron for most of her life, before leaving at sixteen to start a life for herself. That she had just paid off her work studio, and was living on commission to get by.  
  
It’s familiar, and comfortable, and that’s what terrifies me most of all.  
  
True finishes her stitches just as Sherri kicks back her third cup of coffee. "Alright," Sherri yawns, "so that part's done. I still have to finish this design for Vy—for an Executive," she amends, "and then... hey, maybe we can actually go out and get some lunch?"  
  
True looks up from her work bench, laughing. "Really? Where would we go?"  
  
"Oh, I know a few places close by," Sherri laughs. "I just have to finish this, and then deliver some fabric for a coworker—"  
  
"Well," True says, "I could... if you gave me directions, I could... maybe deliver it?"  
  
My eyes narrow.  
  
"I mean, it's on this floor,” Sherri says, tilting her head. “But... you're sure?"  
  
I haven't seen True look this excited in a week, but somehow that unnerves me more than it soothes. "It's just a bag, right? And if it's on this floor... if you know the number...?"  
  
"Five-twenty. We're five-oh-one," Sherri says. She bends down to grab a white bag, bulging at the sides. True grunts when she picks up the bag and has to hold it with both hands. "And you're positive you’re okay with this?"  
  
Even in the half-light I can see the fire in True’s eyes as she answers, "I'm sure! You probably won't even be finished by the time I get back!" She shifts in her boots and looks down at me. "You want to come?"  
  
"Actually, I need him to dig for something," Sherri says. "Is that okay?"  
  
"Um... yeah, that's okay. He's good at that." True meets my eyes. "Is that okay with you?"  
  
My first thought is “fuck no, I’m coming with you.” But Preston shuffles on his perch, and when I turn around Sherri is staring at me. I close my eyes. It's almost noon, which is too early for most grunts to be taking their lunches. And we had run errands before, and no one had seemed to say anything. But.  
  
"We're keeping the door open," I say. "You need anything, you yell."  
  
I don’t see the same unease I’m feeling in True’s face. She nods and leaves after sticking a wood block into the door frame.  
  
I listen for her shoes along the tile, and when I can't hear them anymore I turn to Sherri. "Can you promise me she's going to be safe?"  
  
"It's just down the hall if we need her," Sherri says softly. "I think she'll be fine."  
  
I’m in a room with electric lights. There’s only me, Sherri, and Preston. If the door’s open, I can just jump off of something, short-circuit the lights. I can make a getaway and get to True. I think.  
  
Sherri leans towards me, her hands in her lap. I can’t hear what Preston’s murmuring—what if it’s some sort of code? The hairs along my neck bristle as Preston unfolds his wings. "Look. We don't know you, and—"  
  
"I’d say the same thing. But you can trust me," she says firmly. Sherri looks up to the crack in the door but bows low. She gestures me forward and, against my better judgment, I approach her. She leans over to me with a smile. "You can trust Chris, too."  
  
Chris?  
  
That means—  
  
But I had expected battlers to heed Chris, trainers and their teams who had had experience on the field, not a seamstress from a tiny self-owned shop from Vermilion to follow the Champion into Silph. From the corner of my eye I see Preston raise his head proudly, shuffling his wings. “Just ‘cause we look weak doesn’t mean we are,” he chirps.  
  
Hadn’t True said the same thing once?  
  
“We’ll talk about it at lunch, but for right now, know that this is a safe space.” Sherri leans back in her chair to drink what’s left of her coffee. “Alright?”  
  
She could have heard it from someone else, she could be playing us... but Preston's nodding enthusiastically, and Sherri's smiling so serenely, that I can’t help but doubt my reservations.  
  
"You tell us everything,” I say instead. “At our apartment.”  
  
With the door propped open we can’t listen for the keypad, but we can hear the shuffling of boots outside. As one, the three of us raise our heads to see the door open and light from the hallway flood in. "You back already, True?" Sherri asks.  
  
"Nope."  
  
The deep voice who answers back is decidedly not True. I can't even tell what he is, behind the heavy white bag he’s carrying in his arms. “I have a few uniforms for you to fix up,” he says, adjusting his hold.  
  
Sherri stands up from her chair with a sigh and walks past me to the door and the grunt. She bends down to grab the bag effortlessly, hoisting it in her arms and setting it down in a cleaner corner of the studio. “What’ve we got here?”  
  
Without his bag, I can see him more clearly—he’s all arms with a mess of black hair that falls into his eyes, far younger than his voice would suggest. “Torn stuff. Failed mission. It went pretty badly.”  
  
I jump up onto one of the cleaner cabinets, the better to look at Sherri as she loosens the tie. “Am I talking blood stains, rips…?”  
  
Before she even opens the bag, I can smell something sharp and sickly sweet.  
  
“Both and more,” the kid says, as if it’s his fault.  
  
Preston has already flown to turn on the heavy-duty lamps as Sherri’s pulled out a wrinkled shirt. Maybe this is the real reason the uniforms are black. It’s harder to see blood stains. My lip curls above my teeth.  
  
“These’ll need washing before I can do anything,” Sherri sighs. “Alright. Thanks, kid.”  
  
The boy bows awkwardly before flying out of the room.  
  
“Pres, Casey, you want to help sort these out? We’ll get piles going—mends only, washes only, both, yellow.”  
  
It only takes a few hops to get from the top of the cupboard to the floor. “What’s yellow mean?”  
  
“Any bodily fluids that aren’t blood,” Preston says flatly, holding a shredded pair of pants to the light. “Three guesses as to what kind.”  
  
Great.  
  
It’s tedious work, but between the three of us it goes quickly. Sherri pulls out each garment and sets them on the floor. I’m supposed to examine each one for needed repairs, and Preston sorts them into their piles—but the clothes are so big that the two of us have to tag-team, just to make sure we don’t miss anything.  
  
“They really got themselves in a bind,” Sherri breathes, digging deep into the bag.  
  
“Kid didn’t say which squad this came from either, huh?” Preston chirps, fluttering off with a piss-soaked pair of pants.  
  
Other than the same pee smell, the shirt Sherri holds now seems fine. “Whoever it was, remind me to tell them to sort out their laundry. Half of these clothes probably wouldn’t be bloody if they weren’t with the rest of them.”  
  
She tosses the shirt to me, just to check it over. The cloth is thick, rough, better suited for outside exploration than inside office work. There aren’t any blood splotches on the arms, but something’s off about this. Wrong.  
  
There’s the blood smell, and the piss smell, and the human smell. But some of these are familiar. I hold the sleeve up to my nose and breathe deep. Nothing. Bottom.  
Nothing. Collar—  
  
Gary?  
  
I don’t hear the key input from outside, but I hear the door burst wide open. True stands in the light from the hallway, wide-eyed and panting and shaking in her shoes. Sherri immediately stands up from her chair. “What’s happening?”  
  
“They’re back—Ariana, and, and Gary. They’re back.”  
  
Blood and piss and cuts and a bad mission means—  
  
 _Cassidy_.  
  
I make it halfway down a hallway before I hear True start running after me. I pass grunts in whirs of black and red and turn a corner, trying to listen for—Arceus, what do I even listen _for?_ Do I smell her trail? Will she be in her ball or outside it? Is she even here?  
  
<<Seventh floor.>>  
  
I skid. My face meets the wall with a sharp pang. I don't even reel; I look up, panting. "Michaela?" I ask, just under my breath.  
  
<<We're fine. Seventh floor. 722.>>  
  
"Casey!"  
  
True slides against the wall, bracing the impact with her shoulder. She winces as she runs over to me. "What's wrong, where are you—?"  
  
My mouth is dry and there’s still the smell of piss in my nose, and I have to fight for the words to come. "They're on the seventh floor, Michaela told me," I pant. "He's there, Gary and Michaela—"  
  
True scoops me up and runs to the elevator. She slams the button with a sure fist, and I watch as it ignites with a bright white.  
  
Would the stairs be faster? Do we know where the stairs would lead? How much faster would it be to skip the elevator?  
  
The bell dings and the steel doors open. There's no one here. It's a two-floor journey up but it feels so slow; my paws are twitching against True’s soft, dark sleeves. She runs a hand down my side and watches the tiny number display as it changes from ‘5’ to ‘6.’  
  
I don't dare jolt the button to give it a boost of speed--what if we fell, what if I electrocuted someone?  
  
The doors aren’t even fully open when True and I sprint out of the elevator.  
  
Seven-ten, seven-fourteen. All tiny office buildings, mostly used for storage and private meetings. Why would Gary have chosen this place?  
  
<<The door is unlocked.>>  
  
Because there's no one here. Because there are doors to close and no one wanting to get inside, wanting to test the locks.  
  
True slows down as we come to the room. When I press my head against the door to push down the long knob, I hear sniffling. It's cut off when I open the door into darkness.  
  
"Gary?" True asks softly. "It's... it's me."  
  
A tear-thick voice replies, "I know."  
  
"Can I..." True swallows, closing her eyes. "Can I come in?"  
  
"No."  
  
It's Michaela who peers in from the crack, extending a clawed hand. <<We need to talk. Come in.>>  
  
True hesitates at the door. I don't, slipping out of her arms, just avoiding pushing Michaela aside to come in. The dark room is a sudden change from the bright hallways, and I have to blink several times to adjust.  
  
I smell Cassidy before she brushes her nose against my cheek, not even flinching from the tiny spark from my cheeks. My paw starts to grab for her collar before I remember, and it settles on her strong shoulder instead. "You're okay."  
  
But she isn’t. Her cheeks are marked with tear stains and her eyes are bright. There’s a new wariness to her body that I don’t recognize, not on her.  
  
"Jet's dead," she whimpers.  
  
I know Cassidy, and Michaela. Boston from the battle. Sheldon from the meeting with Chris near Celadon. But I don’t recognize the name.  
  
True quietly shuffles in, closing the door behind her. It’s Michaela who answers me with a sad sigh. <<Our Fearow.>>  
  
Oh, Arceus. That's why I didn't remember him. I'd only seen him once, as a Spearow, in our battle from Cerulean.  
  
"I'm so sorry," I murmur.  
  
She sniffles. My shoulder isn’t big enough for her to rest her head, but I cradle what’s left in my hand. "It was... oh, Casey, it was awful. It was _awful_."  
  
"It wasn't my fault."  
  
Cassidy lifts her head, looking into the dark corner. I follow her eyes to see Gary tucked up in the darkness, his hat balled up in his hand. "It was their fault they rattled that group of Magnemite. Jet tried… It wasn't... wasn't my fault."  
  
Just from Michaela’s weary sigh, I know it’s a conversation that’s been had before.  <<No one's saying it's your fault.>>  
  
"It wasn't my fault," Gary repeats.  
  
How many nights had I spent with True as a very young child, saying the same thing? _”It wasn’t your fault. They aren’t angry with you.”_ I twist as much as I’m able to lock eyes with True, who’s already staring at me.  
  
When I nod, she takes a few steps closer toward the grieving boy, her arms folded across her chest. "Gary, I'm—"  
  
"I don't want to hear it," he says.  
  
I'm aware of Cassidy's shoulders clenching, of her cool breath hitching. I brush a finger against her cheek, and she leans into it. "Is there anything... is there anything we can do for you?"  
  
Cassidy blinks once before lifting her head. "No."  
  
"I'm... glad you're safe," I admit.  
  
It's small, hesitant, but Cassidy smiles. "Me too."  
  
"Michaela," True says, "you're the one who wanted us in here. Is there… is there something you needed to tell us?"  
  
The Kadabra walks toward Gary, placing a hand on his shoulder. Light radiates from her spoon, the better to see the sharp planes of Gary's face thrown into shadow. Even Michaela seems distant, though she looks at us with piercing dark eyes.  <<They tried to keep their thoughts secret, but I think—>  
  
The intercom flares to life with a sharp piercing sound. Cassidy and I flinch into each other as a stony female voice speaks. "Attention all staff. There will be a meeting in the eighth floor meeting hall at eighteen-hundred hours today. I repeat, all staff..."  
  
"That doesn't sound good," True murmurs.  
  
<<We need to be on our guard. I don't know if they've learned something that we don't, but Ariana seemed suspicious of us all throughout our mission. Especially... after Jet died, Gary...>>  
  
"She's not the boss of me," Gary hisses. "I could've saved him if she hadn't told me to take care of the Magnemite."  
  
Would nothing stop this kid from self-destructing? The second I think this, Michaela's eyes are locked onto mine, narrowed. I look away.  
  
"Well, we have... half an hour," True says. "We have half an hour. So... so if you want, we can stay here. We can go. Or I can—"  
  
"I don't want you to do anything," Gary hisses.  
  
True's eyes widen. "I don't—"  
  
Gary stands up so suddenly that it takes even Michaela off guard; she stumbles and only just manages to right herself, her mustache bristling with alarm.  
  
" _I don't want you here!_ " Gary screams. "In this room, in this _mission_. If you weren't such a fucking coward you would’ve been there with us, it would’ve been _you_ —"  
  
But he cuts off as Michaela grabs his hand, yanking him away, forcing him to look at her. Cassidy's eyes are narrowed, as though she too was listening in on this unspoken conversation. True hangs her head and looks away, as if to give them privacy.  
  
"You want to make this about her?" he yells.  
  
Michaela shakes her head vehemently, hissing under her breath.  
  
Cassidy throws me one last glance before turning away from me to stand in front of Gary, whose fists are trembling. “You can’t blame anyone here, Gary. What happened was an _accident_.”  
  
"It doesn’t matter how many times you say that," Gary snaps. “It wasn’t an accident if she murdered him.”  
  
Cassidy lifts her head, but says nothing.  
  
Gary’s eyes meet mine for one second before he turns to True, one hand on his Pokéball. "Don't look for us at the meeting," Gary snarls, as Michaela vanishes in a flash of red. His hand hovers over his belt, but it leaves as he storms toward the door. "Forget we even said anything."  
  
"You can’t go out there,” True yells, and reaches for him with a tentative arm. "Gary, wait!"  
  
But he doesn’t answer, and throws the door wide open behind him as he storms from the room.  
  
"I’m sorry,” Cassidy whimpers, and runs in pursuit before I can do anything.  
  
True and I stand motionless, helpless, as the door to the stairwell creaks open. The door shuts heavily.  
  
"When I said that he wasn't upset about... about everything," True whimpers. "Or anything. I was wrong, wasn't I?"  
  
I can still feel Cassidy's cheek against my paw, her breath on my face.  
  
"Yeah," I sigh. "We both were."  
  


* * *

  
It's funny how half an hour can go by so slowly, and yet so quickly at the same time. We don't even have enough time to go back down to Sherri to tell her what's going on—the elevator refuses to go down, and the stairway is crowded with Rockets surging up to the eighth floor. To fight against the crowd for two floors is impossible at this point, so instead we let ourselves be swept away by the tide of black and red.  
  
It guides us to the eighth floor, to a set of huge double doors that have already been propped open. It's less like a floor and more like an auditorium, opening up to thirty rows of slightly staggered seats. Other than the gray-and-red chairs that are quickly filling up with Rockets, everything is black. But by far the most dominant feature of the room is the high stage at the far end of the room. I recognize Archer as he walks along the edge of the stage, gazing out into the crowd.  
  
We follow the crowd until True finally takes a seat near the center of the auditorium, settling in near the middle of the row. She doesn't even have to fight to slide into the seat--there's enough room that I can squeeze in between her hip and the metal bar. I don't know if these chairs are extra roomy or if, in the stress of everything, True has been losing weight. I should have noticed. I should have done something, made her eat more, not have pushed her—  
  
But True's hand finds the top of my head, stopping me in my thoughts. She brushes the tuft of fur on the top with gentle, steady fingers. I lean into the touch and then into her, before finally moving away from that gap and settling on her lap. When I look up, the smile is brittle, but she isn’t shaking. I have to take strength in that.  
  
It isn't just grunts here: I see stoic men and women settling down, rummaging through their lab coats for pens and pads of paper; see custodians still in their grimy gray uniforms, careful not to interact with their higher-ups. Even the weakest grunt has power, I think, as I see a tiny custodian boy flinch from a much taller, much meaner grunt—I recognize him from the first round of cuts from Archer's class, and have to bite back a growl.  
  
"Do you think it's promotion time?" a teenage boy asks behind us.  
  
True doesn't answer, but a girl in front of us does, swishing so violently that her blonde hair nearly whacks me in the face. "Heard Vympel's back in town. Maybe it's a debrief on his mission."  
  
It only takes a few minutes of eavesdropping on conversations for me to realize that nobody knows what's happening here—that, more than anything, has me curling deeper into True's loose embrace. But I see a familiar flash of blue a few aisles over and watch as Cassidy and Gary take one of the few remaining seats closest to the aisle. Cassidy has to fight to keep herself from being trampled. Gary seems oblivious, staring straight ahead at the stage.  
  
She doesn't meet my eyes, and I don't want her to. Some guilty part of me is thrilled when a trio of muscular men settle down, blocking my view of her.  
  
Every snippet of conversation stops the second Vympel and Ariana walk onto the stage--I can only hear the clicking of their boots on the polished wood, hear their soft breathing.  
  
"Team Rocket is an organization that demands excellence in all accounts," Vympel begins. "In our research department. In our field units. In our battling. We are a team that pushes for nothing less than perfection on all accounts. It is how the strong survive. It is how the weak are weeded out."  
  
"A lack of perfection holds us back from obtaining our goals," Ariana says. "A single mistake can set us back for future endeavors. One misaligned cog in the machine of Team Rocket has the ability to destroy us."  
  
"We demand nothing but excellence from our Rockets. It is my belief that if you are not given proper... _incentive_ , you cannot perform at your highest level."  
  
"Today, we're giving you your incentive." Ariana's mouth breaks out into a cruel smile as she gazes out toward the audience. "Fargone. Oak. Come to the stage."  
  
I'd thought that the training sessions with Archer and Ariana had been torture. Fifty grunts seems like nothing now compared to the hundreds, maybe even the thousands, of Rocket employees that watch our every move. Gary and Cassidy have an easy enough trip—True has to stumble past five people, and I have to hold on tight to her shaking shoulders. The stairs are steep, and by the time the four of us have met on the stage, True is panting. Gary doesn't look steady on his feet either, but he holds his head high, defiant, as he glares at the two of us.  
  
"The two of you failed utterly in your assigned missions," Ariana snarls. "Whether it was by being impulsive and refusing to follow orders from your commanding officer—"  
  
"Or for believing," Vympel growls, "that the training of Rocket members could be treated as some sort of _play time exercise_ —"  
  
"Coupled with the fact that you have been repeatedly seen conversing together, alone, we believe that it is no longer beneficial to this organization for you both to remain in this organization."  
  
For not wanting to seriously harm our coworkers? For putting our mission in jeopardy?  
  
How much did they know about us? It's only from here on stage that I can see past the thick curtains at the space behind. From the darkness, Archer narrows his eyes.  
  
He'd understood Britt. I couldn't remember if I'd said anything.  
  
Did they know?  
  
"We cannot ignore that your potential is great," Ariana says, flicking a wayward lock of black hair out of her eyes. "And we can't deny that your skills, if better honed under a firmer hand, could be beneficial to this organization."  
  
"Prove your worth now," Vympel yells. "A one-on-one battle with the Pokemon you have out now."  
  
My stomach drops.  
  
True can't even argue without causing more strife, without jeopardizing this mission further, and what if it _had_ been me who had blown our cover? How much could Archer or any other Rocket have heard?  
  
Everything comes at once: True's panicked breathing, Gary's narrowed eyes, Cassidy's uneasy shifting as she takes her place in front of her trainer. I don't fall down to the stage of my own accord--I'm brought down by the million pairs of eyes that watch my every breath, my every twitch.  
  
"And to prove your loyalty," Vympel growls, "you'll fight to the death."  
  
All sound drowns out.  
  
The wood's so polished that I can see everything reflected in the wood: my horrified expression, Gary's fists clenching, Cassidy's body bowed away from mine. I think I hear True, but the words are so garbled, I can't understand her, can only see her mouth moving—  
  
And then Vympel's—  
  
Vympel rushes toward Gary, plucks a dark ball off his belt.  
  
Cassidy immediately break eye contact to intercept whatever emerges from the flash of light.  
  
I don't recognize the flash of white as my own lightning until I hear the snap in my ears, until I feel my cheeks burn. The stage shakes as something heavy falls to the ground. I fall with it, landing flat on my face.  
  
It's like magic, the way sound comes back into the world.  
  
"You dare attack me?!" Vympel screeches. The Machamp at his side pushes itself up, chest heaving and all four fists clenched tightly. Its dark eyes are narrowed as it focuses at me, and runs, fists flailing in front of it.  
  
My feet are iron.  
  
When I close my eyes, the Machamp is still hurtling toward me. But when I feel something cold nibble at my toes, when I don’t feel four fists pummeling the shit out of me, I open my eyes. The floor is slick with water and the Machamp has disappeared. I look up to see Cassidy bounding toward me, her fins twitching and frilled collar fully extended. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm—"  
  
We don't see the flash of light, only the giant purple snake that slithers its way toward us. I don't know what's more frightening, the glowing hood-markings or the sharp fangs. Cassidy snarls as she fires a multi-colored beam straight in its face. Ice creeps down its chin, catching light from the overhead. The Arbok crashes to the ground, thrashing, hissing insults and profanities.  
  
"Protect the bosses!"  
  
"Destroy them!"  
  
Suddenly there are a million flashes of white, shapes materializing out of the bright lights--arcs of flame and jets of water. Hands scoop me up and I can't help it, I panic, I fire the electricity—  
  
"It's me, it's _me_ ," True shouts—  
  
And I cut it off just as we hit the floor. The uniform has been torn at the shoulder, and I smell blood welling underneath, but True's eyes are bright with fear as she meets mine.  
  
The Rocket who comes toward us first has his Pokeball in his hand. No Pokemon. I only just recognize the face, only just, it could have been a face we passed in the hallway or it could have been one of our grunts from the training session. But he looks down at us with a heavy expression as he throws his Pokeball up. True's hold is tight on me. I hiss, ears pulled back.  
  
With one fluid motion he pulls off his Rocket shirt, revealing an ill-fitting yellow shirt already dark with sweat. "If this mission fails, I'll come after you," the man growls.  
  
There's a crackle of electricity that pulls my ears up automatically. Light catches on a Magneton's body as it fires a Thundershock in front of the approaching Rockets—some dive away and others are left to face the brunt of the attack. Their screams might have echoed if the other surging bodies didn't capture the sound, but I hear them. I hear them.  
  
There's a Hypno subduing Vympel's Machamp, a Growlithe blowing a Smokescreen, an Ivysaur whipping its vines against the faces of two kids fleeing down the aisles—  
  
"Chris will be coming!" the man says, illuminated by another Thundershock from the buzzing Magneton. "Run!"  
  
True's breathing is picking up. A Muk swallows up two screeching Raticate. Two Golbat sink their fangs into a bucking Ponyta. True still doesn't move as she stammers, "I-I don't—"  
  
The man pulls her roughly by the arm and snarls "RUN!" before running toward the Magneton.  
  
There's no sign of Gary or Cassidy. Had they been swallowed up by the twisting throng of bodies? Maybe in the dark? I look over into the shaded corner, but there is no sign of Archer. But we hadn’t seen him come up on stage, maybe there’s a way—  
  
I don't realize I've spoken aloud until True jumps into the darkness, taking the steps two at a time.  
  
The fighting had been contained to the stage just moments ago, hadn't it? Now there are Golbat screeching overhead, and the howls of pursuing Growlithe and Magnemite. True has to swerve between bodies and attacks--we duck and twirl, guided by the light from the fire and electric blasts. I'm looking for a bright neon sign overhead, for some sign of an exit—  
  
"There!" True shouts, and surges forward.  
  
She can't run with me in her arms, I can't attack without hurting her—  
  
"Send someone out, send someone who can take a hit!" I yell. "We're going to have to fight to get out of here."  
  
"I don't want to lose you—"  
  
I twist my head up. "Trust me."  
  
When she whirs around, I see it too, the flashing neon EXIT sign. Her hold on me loosens and I jump out of it, twisting my body to land on all fours. "Lead the way!"  
  
It's a short burst, with only a few bodies. I slip on something and land face first, taste something sharp and salted—but I regain my footing, I have to, and follow True to the door illuminated by an arc of flame.  
  
We make it to the door, True's grip is good on the handle—  
  
We burst into the hallway and it's only when we're in the light that I see the blood on my paws.  
  
True and I meet eyes for one long moment, and True brushes away a tear with a trembling hand.  
  
Roars to our left, bodies thumping against the walls to our right—  
  
We take the right and we run.


	51. Chapter Forty-Eight

Most people are too focused on their battles, on keeping themselves alive, to notice the two of us running.  
  
My body wants me to run away as fast as I can, to leave everything behind. But I can't leave True alone. I focus on True's feet slapping against the slick tile, on her rapid breathing. I let her lead so that I don't lose sight of her, so that I'm not tempted to blindly run and lose track of her.  
  
Had there been an exit strategy? Chris must have told us, this is what they'd been planning for, how do we get out of here—  
  
"Muk, get them!"  
  
There's no reacting. One moment I'm running and the next True is screaming and I'm drenched in something cool and liquid and foul. The slimy hand that grabs me is almost as big as I am. Everything is suddenly raw sewage and rotting food stores—I can't breathe through my nose without gagging, and I can't breathe through my mouth without tasting the smell.  
  
"Don't you make a move," the Muk grumbles. With every word comes a burst of horrid breath—decaying bodies and sun-baked onions. He has my paws in his hands and I can't hide away from the smell. I can't struggle in the Muk's hold, there's nothing to struggle  _against_. Heels click on the tile behind me and I stop to look as Ariana prowls beside True.  
  
True looks up, hands trembling. "L-Let him go, it's not—he didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"No?" she whispers. "He's your Pokémon. And  _you_  did something very, very wrong."  
  
True's hand flies toward her Poke Ball, but in the next moment the Muk's giant hand covers my mouth.  
  
"You try to fight me and that Muk will suffocate your little rat," Ariana snarls. "And then he'll come after you."  
  
I don't want to die here, suffocated by a Muk. I don't want to die I don't want to die. But True needs to get out of here, True needs to get out, get to a safe place—  
  
There's a flash of light, a burning, and I don't recognize it as me until I hear the Muk howling, until I can breathe through my mouth again. I don't hear the snap of the Poké Balls opening, but I hear Jackson's furious roar, hear Britt's ferocious battle cries. Ariana snarls but stands her ground, already grabbing another ball from her belt.  
  
I'm woozy on my feet, but I rush up to True just as she picks me up. "You're okay, you're—"  
  
Sizzling heat, a column of white-hot flame. "YOU WERE ON THE BOAT!"  
  
Both of us look up to see Jackson, standing at his full height. The flame on his tail burns a bright white. I can't see his face but I can only imagine the curled snarl, the exposed fangs. "I saw her, when I was fighting that Nidoran! You were there!"  
  
There had been so many people on that boat—but then I remember her. Red lipped and dissatisfied, she'd been talking with someone else. How could I have forgotten?  
  
Ariana pays no glance to the Vileplume struggling to get up, its red flower charred. "Don't remind me of that failure of a mission," the woman hisses. "That boy got exactly what he deserved, jumping the gun the way he did."  
  
I remember gunshots and blood splattering, Kerri Peter Kerri Peter—  
  
" _They'd be alive if it weren't for you!_ " Jackson howls, and begins to charge.  
  
Ariana doesn't even flinch. She releases her final Poke Ball and mutters something under her breath. The Abra only has just enough time to materialize from the white before the both of them have vanished. Jackson lands on the floor with a snarl, just where they had been standing a second before.  
  
I can't watch him bang the floor with his fists, scratch the floor with shaking claws. I turn up to look at True and brush a paw against her quivering arms. "You did good."  
  
"I didn't do anything," she whimpers. "I—"  
  
I hear Britt snarl something as she walks toward Jackson. "You need to get up and keep moving."  
  
Jackson fires a shot of dark smoke straight in her face. Britt doesn't even move, just strikes him in the face with a curled fist.  
  
"You want to mope around here? You need to get up and come with me."  
  
It must mean something different to him; any ounce of fight washes away from him. Jackson only blinks before standing to his full height, a complete head and shoulders above Britt. "But she—"  
  
"You explain it to me later," Britt says. "Right now, we have to get out of here."  
  
Does he see Kerri in Britt's flashing eyes? There's no way of knowing. He nods and turns to me and True with red-shot eyes. "Where do we go now?"  
  
"There's an elevator near here," True says shakily. "One goes down—I think we can make it there."  
  
I refuse to look down at the bodies we stumble over. Once or twice we see an Alakazam or Abra appear beside a limp figure, give us a glance, disappear. Each and every one has a bright yellow band on their twig-like arms. "What do we know... about those?" I ask.  
  
"Nothing," True says softly.  
  
"Must be with us, they have those yellow things on," Britt growls. "C'mon."  
  
We keep close together. The number of people fighting is dwindling—maybe they've moved to the lower floors, or maybe they're all being taken away. Britt peeks around every corner before giving us the go-ahead to run. There isn't as much blood leading to the staircase. I don't know if that's a good thing.  
  
Light pours in through windows smeared with water and blood. Britt jumps up to ram her fist against the glass—it holds fast, and when Britt falls to the ground there's a scowl on her face. "Stairs it is, then."  
  
Something's hissing. I turn, and then Jackson turns as well, as a Koffing rams against True. She falls to the ground so quickly that Poké Balls fall off her belt. Britt and Jackson fire attacks as she scrambles to collect them all—but one rolls just out of her grip, straight toward me. I grab it without looking at the carved label and hold it up so True can see.  
  
Her face breaks into a smile. She starts to stand up—  
  
"Hit the deck!" Britt yells, and crashes her down to the ground.  
  
The Koffing has already started to flicker an ominous blue-white—Jackson's Ember hits the Koffing and drives it away and into the ceiling—  
  
A loud explosion.  
  
Light blinds me; heat engulfs me. I feel Jackson land on top of me, feel the ball wedge itself between our chests. There's dust in the air and a heavy breeze—  
  
True.  
  
I wiggle myself away from Jackson, leaving the Poke Ball behind. True isn't there, and Britt isn't there, there's only smears of ash and soot. The floor still holds. I fall down into it, feel shards of glass press into my knees and belly.  
  
There's no way, no way no way  _no no no_ —  
  
"We're okay!"  
  
My neck seizes with pain but I don't care, I stand up and look out of the window. The ends of Clara's feathers are singed and most of True's shirt has burned away, and there's a black tint to Britt's tail, but they're alive they're safe they're  _alive_ —  
  
My voice cracks. "Don't fucking do that again!"  
  
True's crying, has one hand to her face. Britt positions herself in front of True and yells, "Everyone okay there?"  
  
I'm alive. I turn to Jackson and he's alive. The Poke Ball is there too. I don't even have to tell Jackson to press the button.  
  
Minka appears in a flash of light, and takes in her surroundings with wide eyes. "Where—?"  
  
But I turn away from her to True, whose smile stretches her face. "We're okay! You get to safety, we'll follow you down!"  
  
"Don't fuck this up!" Britt growls. True yells something but the words are swallowed up by wind as Clara dives. They disappear from my sight and I lose it  
  
Jackson looks over to me, panting. "What do we do now?  
  
I couldn't save him before on the SS Anne. I couldn't save Peter or Kerri or anyone. I can do this one thing. I can get us out of here.  
  
"We get down to the elevator," I say. "Jackson, you hold onto that Poke Ball. Minka—"  
  
But Minka shakes her head, standing up. "I'll follow you."  
  
The stairs are too narrow and too steep for Minka—we have to hope for the elevator, still a few hallways away. The fighting must have moved to another floor, because we don't pass any other battlers on our way down. There are only unmoving bodies, human and Pokémon alike.  
  
"So if we can work the elevator," I say, "we're straight down—"  
  
"How do we know if it's working?" Minka asks, her footsteps heavy behind us.  
  
There's no way of knowing. We can only hope.  
  
I see a flash of blue before Jackson whips his burning tail above me. A Golbat lands on the floor hard, badly singed on one wing. It's only when I look into the narrowed eyes that I realize that I recognize the flying Pokémon; when I do, electricity bites my cheeks. "We're getting out of here."  
  
"Traitors never leave!" Strike snarls as she pushes herself up into the air with unsteady wing beats. "Once you join you never escape. You made a promise!"  
  
"We promised nothing!" I snarl.  
  
Jackson fires another Ember straight toward the Golbat, but she dodges the brunt of her attack. Only the tips of one wing have been scorched, and even that doesn't seem to bother her.  
  
Strike's curled fangs glint in the flickering light overhead. "Here's a promise I'll keep."  
  
Her wings flash as she dive bombs toward me—past Jackson's furious ember—  
  
The room cools. A beam of ice flashes red, green-purple, as it lands a direct hit on the screeching Golbat. Strike hits the floor again and lands on her injured wing. She screeches.  
  
Maybe this is all a dream. It has to be, because this can't be Cassidy bounding toward us. There's blood on her side and her left ear is frayed at the edges, but when she brushes toward me I feel the blood stick to my fingers, feel her fur. She's here, she's  _here_ , and I can't help but stare as she fires another Aurora Beam with a grunt. Ice creeps up Strike's other wing, pinning her down with an icy trap.  
  
My eyes start pricking and I start to shake. When I turn to her, she's smiling right at me. "I thought you were with Gary—"  
  
But she shakes her head. "We got separated."  
  
Jackson has Minka's Poke Ball held tight in his hand. "What're you doing here then?"  
  
"Climbing up," Cassidy says, looking to the ceiling. "I'm supposed to meet him on the ninth floor—they have a teleportation thing set up there, that's how we get out of here."  
  
"We'll go with you," Minka says. "One floor up is better than seven down."  
  
"Do you know where they're taking us?" I ask.  
  
"Somewhere else in the city," she says, looking behind her. "The Saffron gym leader is supposed to be helping. I don't know anything more than that."  
  
It's more than we'd known, and better. "Jackson, press that little button with the up arrow."  
  
Jackson narrows his eyes. "What's a—?"  
  
But Minka's already withdrawn a vine, aiming for the button that'll lead us to freedom. The light ignites a furious yellow, and I sob. The elevator's working, the number above the door is going up. We're going to get out of here.  
  
Strike groans and struggles in her icy prison. When I turn she's staring at me, straining upward. Her eyes are narrowed as she hisses, her long tongue lolling out of her mouth. "Over my dead body."  
  
Jackson turns toward her, arms outstretched, the fire on his tail igniting.  
  
Faster than I can follow, Cassidy pulls away from me. Her body slams against Jackson's as Strike fires a bright orb of light from her mouth. It hits Cassidy square in the face—she yowls. Jackson flings her off his body with a roar, and she lands against the nearest wall.  
  
I don't recognize the attack, what's is it, what has she done to her—  
  
Jackson spews flames with a roar, aiming them straight for Strike's open mouth. The ice melts but she doesn't move, she's screeching and struggling. Jackson just keeps on firing blast after blast after blast. I'm too stunned to move, and every time Minka reaches for Jackson she flinches away, as if the heat from Jackson's attack is a barrier.  
  
When the flames vanish, there is only a scorched body left, unmoving.  
  
I want to barf, I want to wash my eyes out with soap, I want to forget the victorious gleam in Jackson's eyes when he turns to look at me. There's an accusation on my lips but I can't force it out. I'm too stunned.  
  
Jackson raises his head, eyes narrowed. The gleam fades, and his shoulders slump down. "I'm not losing anyone again."  
  
And beyond my better judgment, I'm comforted by this.  
  
The bell on the elevator dings, and the metal doors open. I turn my head to see Minka carefully cradling an unconscious Cassidy in her vines. "She's just knocked out," Minka says soothingly, and the lump in my throat loosens. "Let's get inside that elevator."  
  
The elevator groans under our combined weight. My throat hops in my chest with every rattle, every flicker of light. When I put a blood-stained paw to my face, it comes back with a tear. They dribble down my cheeks and bury themselves in my chest fur.  
  
Jackson swallows hard as he looks up at the blinking lights. "We're gonna make it out of here," he says, as if this is a miracle.  
  
It is one. We're making it out of here, we're going to find True, we're going to get as far away from Saffron as we possibly can—fuck the gym challenge, fuck the journey, we're here and we're alive and that's all that matters.  
  
When the doors open, Jackson and I are the first ones out. There's no way to see what's beyond the corners, but I hear voices in the far-off distance.  
  
Safety's only a few turns away. We're going to  _make it_.  
  
Minka's words are soft as she nudges Cassidy with her head. "Sweetheart, wake up. You have to tell us where to go."  
  
Cassidy bucks her head out of Minka's loose grip, falls onto the floor.  
  
She's still thrashing when I run over to her. Hesitantly, I brush her cheek with a paw—it comes back wet, as if she's been sweating. "Cassidy?"  
  
She opens her eyes. There's no warm brown, just a dark black.  
  
I slam into the wall before I can register her thick tail slapping me right in the face. She lunges at me, teeth bared, and I jump away. Water shoots out from her open mouth, not in one precise stream but in a high-powered flood. There's nowhere for me to run—I'm forced against by the high-powered blast.  
  
I slide down the wall, soaked, and try to catch my breath, as she snarls at me.  
  
This isn't the Cassidy I met so long ago. Not the Cassidy I'd seen nurse a hundred sick kids back to health, who had built their self-esteem, who had been friend and playmate to so many children. Not the Cassidy who had told me to fake being attacked during our first battle. Not the Vaporeon who had just fought for us.  
  
If Strike's last attack hadn't been a real attack, it could only be—  
  
Confuse Ray.  
  
I have to fight to stand up. The wall is solid and I hug it, using it to support myself. "Cassidy," I say softly. "It—It's me. It's Casey, remember?"  
  
She lowers her body into a crouch. Water leaks from her open mouth.  
  
It's out of the corner of my eye that I see Minka, shifting ever-so-slowly toward the two of us. Her two vines creep toward us, slithering against the white tile like tiny snakes.  
  
"We're not going to hurt you," I say, stressing every word. "I'd never hurt you. Okay? You just… you can trust me."  
  
Cassidy lifts her head, her eyes hard. "Trust… you?"  
  
The words are slurred, like she's drunk. I force down the bile that shoots into my mouth, swallow it back down. "You can always trust me."  
  
She tilts her head, confused—  
  
My eyes meet Minka's. I nod.   
  
Minka's vines suddenly shoot up, grabbing for Cassidy's legs. It's the only way I know how to counter the effects of the confusion—by the time she wakes up she won't be this monster anymore, she'll be Cassidy again. "Throw a Sleep Powder on her, hurry!"  
  
Shimmering blue powder seeps from the browning flower on Minka's back.  
  
Cassidy thrashes and slips out of Minka's hold again. Water dribbles down her paws, joining the puddle under our feet. The creeping powder isn't moving fast enough—Cassidy fires another Aurora Beam—  
  
It hits Minka square in the face. The Venusaur roars, bucking her head, as she tries to scrape off the frost that's slowly creeping up her left cheek.  
  
Cassidy raises her head again, and it's instinct now to run for her— _at_  her. I slam into her body and the two of us go rolling, stopping only when we hit the wall. She's slick with water and there's no way to get a good hold on her. Her teeth find my shoulder and sink in hard. The electricity builds in my cheeks and I'm helpless to stop it. Everything goes white.  
  
When I open my eyes, she's still snarling, but her eyes aren't as hard. Now she's just dazed.  
  
I can hear my voice tremble. "Look at me!" She doesn't. I pat her on the face, and when she doesn't respond, I beat harder. "Look at me, Cass—Cass  _please_ , snap out of it!"  
  
Her eyes meet mine for one heartbeat, two—and then with one fluid, powerful sweep, she sends me flying again.  
  
Jackson runs after her, his claws extended. He tries to swipe but she avoids, ducking under him to slap him across the face with her tail. He doesn't go flying, but tries to grab her—she slides right out of his grip and fires a jet of water into his stomach.  
  
He falls. Minka's Poke Ball flies out of his grip.  
  
I think I hear myself scream.  
  
We can't lose Jackson, not after I promised—he was afraid of water, but he fought for us anyway—the flame on his tail is still there, burning only at half the strength. He's dazed and he isn't moving but if he was—the flame would be out.  
  
And it's still there.  
  
A vine snaps against my cheek and I look up to see Minka trying to reel Cassidy in. But she won't have it. I can only hold on as Cassidy bucks underneath me, snarling and firing water everywhere. It brings Minka's Sleep Powder to the ground, useless after the soaking. Minka's flower is dripping wet but her vines are extended.  
  
She doesn't have eyes for me. She only stares at Cassidy. "Just listen, please!" Minka yells. "We need to get you to safety, and you need to be calm."  
  
Cassidy snarls underneath me.  
  
Minka's eyes harden. "This isn't you, darling, this isn't you—"  
  
The Aurora Beam fires.  
  
And I watch, horror-struck, as it hits squarely against Minka's flower.  
  
I expect her to roar. I expect her to thrash. I expect to see Minka  _react_  the way she always had when a careless hand, when a stray attack, had grazed the sensitive flower. Minka's vines drop to the ground as if they were dead weights. Her eyes are glazed when they meet mine.  
  
She smiles.  
  
And as the ice claims her off-color flower, as it spreads across her leaves, she falls.  
  
Cassidy falls underneath me with a moan. I feel fur, now, instead of that almost-liquid oozing. She's breathing heavily, but she doesn't open her eyes. I hold her face in my hands. Do I shock her to wake her up? Do I try and nudge her awake?  
  
Jackson answers for me. "You gotta get up!"  
  
I turn to see him pressing against Minka, both paws on her icy side, her Poke Ball lying against beside her large foot. Steam hisses where each paw touches the ice. Jackson lowers his head and nudges her heavy arm, over and over again. "We can't stay here, we gotta  _go_."  
  
I don't move, I can't, and I'm still standing there in shock when I feel a familiar mind nudge against my own. I look up and Michaela's there, blinking down at me. <<You go see your friend.>>  
  
My mouth won't work, it's too dry. Michaela takes Cassidy gently into her arms, cupping the back of her head with a three-fingered hand. Do I tell her about everything, do I—?  
  
<<We will take care of everything.>> Michaela bows her head as she vanishes.  
  
Jackson isn't looking at me when I turn to face the two of them. He murmurs something close to Minka's head, his tail light burning low.  
  
Someone shushes him, a low and soothing sound. Her voice is faint as she says, "It isn't anyone's fault."  
  
I approach hesitantly as Minka opens a weary eye. "We're gonna get you help," I say. "Alright? Minka, you have to just hang in there."  
  
She chuckles softly and sighs.  
  
It feels just like Kerri, but Minka is talking, Minka is here. I turn back to Jackson but he doesn't meet my eyes, his head is bent down. He's still dripping wet. When I try to touch him, he flinches away—and then, suddenly, he thrusts his head up with a loud, wild roar.  
  
Red-white light washes over him.  
  
I can't convince myself to look away as he doubles in size, as his powerful tail lengthens, as two wings sprout from his back, as his one horn splits into two curled ones. The glow fades. He's darker than other Charizard I've seen, a ruddy orange, and more powerfully built in the shoulders. Even with his wings folded, I can tell they're huge.  
  
But the eyes are the same, narrowed and glazed over with tears, as he turns his head toward me.  
  
I think I'm supposed to feel proud, but the only thing I can think is  _I failed you again._  
  
[Your companion will be taken to a safe place. You will wait here for me to return for you.]  
  
Before I can place the unfamiliar mind I'm blasted away by psychic energy, slam into something warm and hard. I only just register it as Jackson when I open my eyes, but I don't focus on him—an Alakazam has materialized right beside us, resting his clawed hands on Minka's side. Before Jackson and I can even react, the psychic-type Pokémon and Minka have gone.  
  
Jackson's tail light is bright and big, burning an almost-white. He stares at me with a snarl that exposes the long curled fangs that peek out from his lip. "I don't want to wait for him," he hisses.  
  
I don't either.  
  
The door to the staircase must have been blown open by one of the blasts. Frantic feet slap against the stairs, and I turn toward the sound. I don't recognize the muscular man in black who leads the charge. But I recognize the dark young man and the Electabuzz who trail the stranger.  
  
I had known this wouldn't work, I should have protested harder, I should have done something to keep us away from this place, as far away as possible—  
  
Jackson's too big to fit in the stairwell now. His wings are fully extended as he tries to barricade himself through the opening. His long claws scratch the walls, and his tail slaps against the metal door frame. He's shouting "Killer!" and "Hurter!" and it's all I can do to not choke back a sob.  
  
But then I'm in the air, jumping past the space between his longer neck and his shoulder. Before I know what I'm doing I've jumped onto his shoulder and out through the tiny opening. Jackson's furious roars echo in the stairway, but it's nothing compared to the battle cries that had echoed the halls. Everything in my mind is telling me to run, and for the first time in a long time I listen to instinct. I move and leave Jackson behind.  
  
The Alakazam and Abra must be focusing on clearing the hallways, because I trip over unconscious humans and slacked Pokémon. The stairs are slick with blood and sweat. I have to grab the ends of the stairs to steady myself, press myself against the walls. I'm too slow—I hear the echo of a door closing a few flights above me.  
  
I'm not letting him get away from me, not this time.  
  
"Would you like some assistance?"  
  
The electricity burns when I fire it outward. Clawed hands find my shoulder. When I look up, Wilkes's glowing eyes are focused and clear as they meet mine. "True sent me to find you and the others—Jackson, and Minka—"  
  
"Jackson's downstairs, floor nine—and Minka, she got taken away—"  
  
"By someone on our side?" Wilkes asks calmly.  
  
It's too much like the boat, but I know this Haunter. There's a serenity in Wilkes's movements that I can't help but be lulled by. "By an Alakazam, it had the yellow arm band."  
  
"Then she should be alright," Wilkes says. His eyes begin to flicker purple. "Continue to look at me and relax, I will take you away from here—"  
  
Something slams to the ground above us.  
  
I wrestle out of Wilkes's grip and bolt up, pumping my legs and arms faster and faster until they feel liquid. We'd been on nine—ten—eleven is the last floor. The handle's too high for me to reach from the bottom, and the railing is too far away for me to jump from.  
  
"Are you intent on punishing him?" Wilkes whispers beside me.  
  
The electricity burns inside me but I can't answer with words. I nod.  
  
"Then trust me," Wilkes says, and I have to laugh because  _trusting people_  had been the whole problem to begin with, hadn't it?  
  
Wilkes rises up and through the roof, disappearing without any fanfare. I twist my body up to see him, then focus on the handle. What had Peter taught me in Cerulean? To jump higher? How?  
  
One of the ceiling panels falls to the ground with a clatter. I start and look up just as Wilkes lowers himself toward me. "This will lead to an air vent. I cannot promise what will happen, but I fear—"  
  
"Get me up there," I growl.  
  
He grabs me and lifts. I don't know which is worse, the feeling that I can't feel anything underfoot, that these hands are not the ones that usually hold me, or that I'm trusting Wilkes to not let go. Despite me struggling, he holds on tight as he slips into the darkness. There's a faint glow coming off his hands that illuminates the vents. He turns to face me. "Would you like to do this by yourself, or shall I accompany you?"  
  
Someone yells.  
  
Do I race down the air vents and slip inside as quickly as possible? Do I take it slow and steady? I know the answer, and have to force myself not to run. The vent is just big enough for me to waddle through on all paws. The steel is steady and if it gives way Wilkes will catch me from behind, but every time I place a foot down, it echoes, and there's a lump in my throat and Minka is hurt—  
  
"Focus," Wilkes whispers beside me. "You can do this."  
  
The words are just as tangible as the steel under my paws, and I latch onto them.  
  
With every step we take I hear voices speaking sharply. There's the smell of blood and I have to keep my mouth shut to keep from gagging. There's light in the vent toward the right—Wilkes and I slip in and slowly make our way to the opening, fastened with bolts.  
  
"There's no one else here," a sharp voice says. "We must have missed them."  
  
Chris.  
  
Someone bangs on the wall. The vents shake. "We had the advantage," Chris hisses, "I don't see how..."  
  
The voice that answers him is rich and smooth like honey. "Perhaps they were better informed than we had previously thought."  
  
"But this plan was kept a  _secret_ ," Chris growls. "The only ones who knew about this part were the gym leaders and the Elite Four. Use the situation to get to the top of this tower, and bring down the boss. End of story."  
  
We'd been pawned all along. Why, then, am I shaking?  
  
"This is still advantageous," Tanza says. I have to adjust my head to see the Electabuzz stepping toward Chris, placing a strong hand on the Champion's shoulder. "We've taken hold of their largest stronghold, and I'm sure our team has gotten to work on capturing their lower admins."  
  
A flash of bright light ignites the large room. I have to twist hard to see the Kangaskhan that appears beside the tall man in black. The baby in the Kangaskhan's pouch takes one long look around the room before diving back into safety; the mother flexes her arms, slapping her tail against the ground experimentally.  
  
The fur along Tanza's arms fluffs up as Chris straightens. "There's no one else to hurt us here."  
  
"You're right," the man in black says. "At least... there's no one to hurt  _me_."  
  
Sour bile shoots into my mouth. I choke it back with a soft gasp. No one below reacts—they're too busy staring at each other.  
  
"What do you mean, 'not for you'?" Chris asks. "You—You're with us."  
  
The Kangaskhan laughs under her breath. The man in black brushes dust off the sides of his well-tailored suit. "Are you so naive as to believe that only one side could spy on the other?"  
  
 _No_.  
  
I expect Wilkes to be behind me, taking all of this in, but he's disappeared without a trace. I turn back to the slotted opening, where Chris is staring in horror at the approaching figure. "No... we did Specter tests, we—there's no way—"  
  
"I was a gym leader long before  _you_  authorized the use of those barbaric invasions of privacy. I was exempt; I had proven my loyalty."  
  
He only has to glance at the Kangaskhan before the large tan Pokémon walks toward Chris and Tanza. Tanza immediately stands in front of Chris and fires a Thunderbolt. It hits, but the Kangaskhan doesn't seem worse for wear. One swipe of her massive arm is enough to send the Electabuzz flying to the other side of the room.  
  
She grabs Chris by the front of his shirt and hoists him up, growling menacingly. I watch as his trembling hands dive for his Pokeballs, watch as he's thrown against the wall.  
  
"I designed Team Rocket to be able to function without me. And it seemed that the plan had worked—we might have lost some particularly fine admins, and thousands of grunts... but our name lived on. And it will continue to live on."  
  
The Kangaskhan approaches Chris, raises her arms high in the air.  
  
It's a simple command, almost a dismissive. Giovanni snaps his fingers, and I hear it echo in my ears. "Kill him."  
  
Tanza shoots forward with a roar, fists flying. The Kangaskhan flails, snarling, as the two of them tumble out of my sight. The other man doesn't seem worried, and instead releases another Pokémon. A Nidoqueen emerges from the flash of light, snorting roughly, and all I can think of is  _what if Kerri were here. What would she do?_  
  
I hear the gunshot, see the blood, see her blue body fall slack on the ground.  
  
I don't think. I react. The electricity that rips out of me doesn't stun, but it startles. The metal door pops open and I jump down, landing hard on my side. The floor shakes and I grip the carpet, jump out of the way just before the Nidoqueen's muscular tail slams into the wall.  
  
There's a desk to hide under, chairs to jump onto, lamps that flicker on and off in the setting sun. What to do what to do what to do—  
  
I take too much time looking around—the tail sends me flying, too, right into Chris's lap. My back spasms and I see stars as I look up to Chris, who's looking down at me wide-eyed. He opens his mouth.  
  
The Nidoqueen plucks me away from him before he can say anything.  
  
"You thought that was funny, rat?" the Nidoqueen hisses.  
  
I shock her, but it does nothing—she only laughs and flings me down to the ground. I land hard against the edge of a table, feel it poke into my skin. The tears flow heavily as the Nidoqueen picks me back up again, and I stare into her dark brown eyes. "You're pathetic."  
  
A dark shape is out the window.  
  
Glass shatters. It sprays everywhere on the floor, catches the red light from the setting sun. I have just enough time to cover my face, but I feel the shards dig into my side. The Nidoqueen snarls and drops me onto the floor. More shards dig in and I hiss as my blood begins to spill.  
  
Heavy footsteps run towards us. A heavy blue fist slams into the Nidoqueen just before a powerful jet of water sprays into her face. The Nidoqueen howls and recoils before slamming her tail into her opponent—  
  
I look up, take in gleaming silver canons and a thick shell, and feel my jaw drop.  
  
The Blastoise doesn't even look at me. "I can give you a better fight than he can," she snarls, and sprays another column of water into the Nidoqueen's face. The Nidoqueen falls with a gurgling gasp and doesn't get back up.  
  
Colors are starting to blur but I swear the Blastoise's eyes are gold, that I've seen that smirk before. "You—"  
  
The Blastoise picks me up and shoves me against her hard chest. "The rest'll be coming soon."  
  
The rest?  
  
The giant room suddenly doesn't feel as giant anymore. There's a large Fearow beating her wings furiously outside the newly broken window, shrieking battle cries; a Haunter spinning around the Kangaskhan, who falls asleep with a heavy thud. I'm forced against the Blastoise's heavy shell as she aims her canons at a Nidoking and Rhyhorn, who both shriek and buck into each other until they both fall hard to the ground.  
  
I don't even register the soft hands at first until I smell True, smell her right around me, right beside me. Her hand cups the back of my head as she stands up. I focus on her heartbeat, beating steadily, beating strong.  
  
The man's laughter pulls me out of it. "You must be Richard's daughter."  
  
I think I'm the one that's shaking now, not True. She stands tall with me held gently in her arms as the Blastoise—and it's Britt, it has to be Britt, but how?—stands alongside her.  
  
"My name is Giovanni," the stranger says. "I am—"  
  
"The Viridian city gym leader," True says softly. "And... and the leader of Team Rocket."  
  
He doesn't give any glance toward his fallen Pokémon. They could be dead right now and I don't know if he would care. "Yes. I am."  
  
Her voice is ragged and raw when she asks, "Why?"  
  
"There's no reason to discuss this now," the man says, adjusting the sleeves. "I'm sure—"  
  
The metal door bursts open. Police officers storm into the room, each pointing a gun at Giovanni. The Growlithe snarl at their masters' heels.  
  
"Right on time." Giovanni narrows his eyes. "I suppose you're here to arrest me, then?"  
  
The police form a line around him; the Growlithe step out in front of their masters, flames licking their lips. This is how I know I'm too tired to react: I don't shiver at the sight, just stare at Giovanni and the shifting shapes around him.  
  
It's Tanza who gets Chris back on his feet and supports him on his shoulders. He can hardly stand up and has to rely on the Electabuzz, but his eyes are narrowed and his lip is curled over his teeth. He looks like a Pokémon. He looks like Al.  
  
"By my authority," Chris pants, "as Kanto League Champion—"  
  
Giovanni slaps a hand to his mouth, swallows.  
  
Two guns fire. Blood splatters where it hits his legs. But the man in black is smiling as he falls to the ground, a dead weight. A heavy officer stumbles toward him and bends beside Giovanni's head, cuffs at the ready.  
  
"You'll be held in a cell—wait. Shit," he says, raising Giovanni's wrists, "oh Moltres,  _shit_."  
  
One of the officers lowers her gun. "What, don't tell me he had a pill—"  
  
"That's exactly what he had," the first officer snarls. " _Damn it_."  
  
The room spins. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. True looks down at me, her eyes glassy, as she buries her nose into my shoulder. "You're okay."  
  
The room is starting to spin again, but I look up at True's face—or the face to the right—the left—"I'm okay."  
  
"We staying or leaving?" Britt growls. "I don't really want to stick around police work."  
  
Every part of me aches. "Where... Jackson...?"  
  
"We found him," True says, "It's alright."  
  
He was safe, he'd gotten out. At least—  
  
"He had Minka's ball with him," True says, "but it was empty. What happened to her?"  
  
The ball. Why hadn't we put her back in her ball?  
  
A purple blur hovers in front of us. Two glowing hands. Wilkes. He looks to me warily before turning to True. "I will take you to her."  
  
But Wilkes hadn't been there with Jackson and me. He must have seen something going back to True. Minka being carried away, Minka being healed right there with the Alakazam.  
  
True holds me tightly in her arms, and I bury my nose into the bloodied fabric. Clara jumps into the open air and steadies herself before arcing down to follow Wilkes. I'm expecting him to lead us south toward the Pokémon Center, but we don't even get to the next row of buildings. Wilkes leads us behind the Silph Tower instead.  
  
"Wilkes, this isn't—this isn't where you found us," True yells.  
  
He doesn't hear us. He doesn't turn back.  
  
If I look down, I can see the garden where we had trained with the grunts. I remember laughter ringing up the tower, remember bodies jumping up and aiming for flying toys. I remember the hallways that had rumbled and roared with attackers. The garden is eerily silent now. Clara rumbles deep in her throat but follows Wilkes to one of the few empty patches of grass. There's blood-smell everywhere. The garden is full with the bodies of smaller Pokémon and humans, bloodied and bruised. Men and women dressed in white put tags on each Pokémon. Alakazam and Kadabra flash every once in a while, bringing in more bodies.  
  
"But I don't... I don't understand," True whimpers, "this is—this is for the—"  
  
Wilkes points one long finger to the right, and we follow it to one of the largest trees in the garden, and the figure resting underneath it.  
  
The tree isn't big enough to shade her. Most of her body is covered in darkness, but light hits Minka's face. The parts that had been frozen over glisten in the sun, shimmering red and orange. A long figure raises his head and howls, spreading giant leathered wings.  
  
I don't realize I'm falling until I slam into the ground. Dust flies into my mouth. I look up to see True collapsing on top of Minka, running her hands over Minka's face, as Jackson bows his head.  
  
One moment I'm lying on the ground, and the next I'm right beside True, brushing a paw over Minka's closed mouth. I'm expecting a trick, a prank, even though Minka's never been like that, never done that. Jackson's speaking but I can't hear him, can only focus on Minka's cool skin, bumped and coarse and unyielding.   
  
The sounds all blend together. I feel like I'm underwater again, like I'm back in that fucking gym. True is sobbing and Clara is prodding Minka with a tentative beak, Jackson is keening a song I've never heard before and Wilkes is muttering something under his breath, a chant or a prayer. I try to say something, I try, but there's a lump in my throat that I can't push out.  
  
" _Attention, everyone._ "  
  
The sound must be amplified by psychic energy, because it carries all the way out into the garden, clear as a bell. Or maybe it's in my mind, too. I can't tell. True and Jackson doesn't look up from Minka. I look up to the eleventh floor. I can't see Chris and I doubt he can see me. I do it anyway.  
  
" _We have sustained heavy losses._ "  
  
It's worn and ragged and broken, but it's Chris's voice.  
  
" _But we have succeeded in our mission. Through the combined efforts of our mission team and our gym leaders, we have taken down the leader of Team Rocket. The organization is hereby disbanded._ "  
  
The rest of the region will be celebrating tonight. Not us. I ignore Chris's voice in my head and I brush a paw over Minka's closed eye. I bury myself against the crook of her shoulder and let my tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how it ends.
> 
> I think I mentioned before that there were three places that forced me to pause my playthrough of the game. The SS Anne was the first, with the deaths of Peter and Kerri. This was the second.
> 
> I think Minka evolved three battles before the final rival battle. I had a good team, I healed everyone up on the ninth floor--having learned, I had thought, from my mistakes on the SS Anne--before heading up to take down the rival. Most of his team was pretty easy to beat--Britt and Jackson did a lot of the heavy lifting. I don't remember exactly what my levels were at, but I know for sure that Casey was the only one on my team who matched the Vaporeon's level. I sent him out to try and take the Vaporeon out, thinking that he'd be able to do it on one hit. Suffice to say it didn't. It took one Bite from Cassidy to bring him down to half health. I panicked and sent out Minka to tank some hits and try and drain her down. First turn, she gets hit by an Aurora Beam. I think she was at 3/4 health. Minka hit a crit with a Razor Leaf, but Cassidy still had about 1/4 health left. One critical AB later, Minka was gone. Casey finished the job with Thunderbolt.
> 
> Jackson evolved immediately after that battle. Britt evolved a few battles after that. Compared to that awful battle, Giovanni was a piece of cake; he didn't have a chance to land an attack.
> 
> It had to be Cassidy who dealt the final blow in story. I wish it hadn't.
> 
> It killed me to write this update, but I hope I did Minka justice. She was a character that intimidated me at first, but as I wrote her I grew to fall deeply in love with her. She was the voice of reason on the team and the team mom, but more than that, she was a character who was finally able to take her life in her vines hands and live the life she wanted. I loved writing Kerri and Peter and it felt weird after their deaths to be unable to write them anymore. Writing the remaining chapters without Minka is going to be... difficult as hell.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this arc, and I hope everyone will enjoy what else is in store.
> 
> RIP Minka.


	52. EXTRA: Remedy

Two days after they steal away to this unused house in the middle of fucking nowhere, True gets sick.  
  
Britt knows how fragile humans get when they get a little under the weather. They're nothing like Pokémon, who are expected to get back on their feet after illness or injury and be  _damn grateful_  for it. Humans, though, they curl up into their beds under heavy blankets, they ask for hot soup and silence and sometimes a good book to read, sometimes a hot shower. But more than anything they want a quick fix for their problems, so they can go back to doing whatever mediocre things they'd been doing before.  
  
They hadn't even done much. They'd left Saffron before the League's big ceremony, honoring the "valor and sacrifice of everyone who helped put a stop to Team Rocket." True hadn't wanted to go, and Casey hadn't, and if she was being honest with herself Britt hadn't wanted to either. It was going to be all bright lights and pompous speeches given by League Officials patting themselves on the back and trying to reassure a horrified region that everything was going to be alright again. Somehow Casey had gotten a set of keys to a house owned by a man named Bill Collins, and his blessing to hide out for a week until things could settle down.  
  
Which, hey, was not the thing that Britt had expected from a normal person, but what was the point of normal anymore? So they'd left. They'd gotten to the house, a tiny thing on a cliff facing the ocean, and after that, everything had gone to hell.  
  
True isn't the one who asks for a remedy. That comes from Casey, after a day of True shaking and shivering and tearing through a roll of toilet paper. It's a hot mid-afternoon and everyone's antsy, even Ghosty who's ringing his hands together as if he's working magic. Jackson's too big to get through the door without wrecking anything, Clara doesn't want to be cooped up inside, and Britt—well, Britt could get inside if she wanted. But she doesn't.  
  
"And I checked everywhere again," Casey says softly, as if True's eavesdropping on them from the closed window, "but there's still nothin'."  
  
"So someone will have to secure some medicine," Ghosty says. "Where would we do that?"  
  
Casey closes his eyes. "I don't know herbs well enough, or I'd say we make something."  
  
Secretly, Britt doubts that even Grandma would've been able to whip up something to make True feel better. There's more to this sudden break in health than just coming down with a common cold.  
  
"This is what she usually uses," the yellow rat says, pulling out a flattened cardboard box of cold medicine. "She just needs rest and she's sleeping now, so I should be able to find a pharmacy that'll—"  
  
Britt swipes the box from his paws, ignoring Casey's little huff. It's common stuff, alright, something she'd seen Eunice stock his shelves with all the time. "Any low-rate pharmacy in town should have this. I'll grab it."  
  
Clara warbles something low under her breath. Beside her, Jackson tilts his head, his eyes surprisingly childlike under his new, heavier brows. "Why do you have to go?."  
  
Britt doesn't have to answer. Even outside the house Britt can hear True's deep coughs, her desperate attempts for breath. Casey disappears in a flash; he must have sprinted, because only a few seconds pass before they can hear his muffled attempts to calm her down.  
  
There are three pairs of eyes on her, Clara's concerned, Jackson's uneasy, Wilkes's interested. Britt looks back down to the box in her hand and scowls. "Nobody knows how to get to a pharmacy in a big city except me and the rat, and he's occupied right now. So unless you want to keep listening to that, you'll keep him here, you'll  _stay put_ , and you'll let me take care of things."  
  
This is how Britt ends up in the middle of a sprawling city on a hot summer afternoon with a bag of money in one paw, an empty box of medicine in the other, and an angry pharmacist in her face.  
  
"The fuck do you mean, I'm not allowed in here?" she shouts back, sneaking a peek into the pharmacy. It's a small building, empty save for a coy-eyed Rattata in the corner, with merchandise in orderly shelves or displayed behind glass cabinets.  
  
The pharmacist on duty, a pot-bellied man whose mustache is so big it threatens to swallow his face, turns purple as he looks up at her. "This is a tiny shop, the aisles are very small—"  
  
If there are any aisles, she can't see them. " _You_  look like you get through them just fine."  
  
She's not quite sure if he doesn't understand her, or if he does and he's just an asshole. "I'm not just letting you barge in here and spewing my merchandise all over the floor! You either go to Julia's on the other side of town, or you come back with your trainer."  
  
Vermilion had been a crowded city filled with idiots who cared more about appearance than function, but at least there had been a pharmacist on every block, and each and every one of them had known her. There hadn't been trouble like this before. Maybe part of it is because she doesn't come from a respected figure in the community, or if this guy just hates Pokémon, but nothing is helping True.  
  
She forces the medicine box into the man's face with a growl. " I just need a box of this. You get me this, I get out of your hair. Capiche?"  
  
He takes his sweet time looking over the flattened cardboard, flipping it over in his hands. "Just generic," he mutters under his breath, and even though it isn't a question Britt nods anyway. "Think we have some in the back. You have the cash?"  
  
She hands him the money bag. He pours out the pile of coins and wadded up bills, takes his sweet time sifting through them. "Yes... yes, I'm sorry, but it seems you don't have enough."  
  
Her own voice seems leagues away. "How much is  _enough?_ "  
  
"Oh, about double this, it looks like," the man says, replacing the money in the pouch. "Price jumped up after everything that happened in Silph, and I don't know when my next shipment of this'll be." The man sighs so hard that his mustache jumps, and Britt would probably laugh at it if she wasn't so angry. She knows the spiel that comes before the man ever delivers it. He does so with a fake "I am so concerned for you and wish there was more I could do to help" gleam in his eye. "You understand, I can't just give this product for free to every Pokémon acting on behalf of their trainers. So I apologize," he says, not looking apologetic at all, and hands the box to her, "and good day, Mr. Blastoise—"  
  
"Do I look like," Britt starts to say, but by then the door has shut between them.  
  
What's the closest thing she can break without getting arrested? A gleaming glint catches her eye, and before she can stop to think about consequences, she kicks. The glazed pot by the doorway shatters and dark dirt spills onto the cobblestone. The sudden noise doesn't draw the asshole pharmacist out of his building, but it attracts the attention of several passerby; Britt meets every single pair of eyes with a furious glare. They back away, fear lighting their eyes, and keep walking. It's the way Britt likes it.  
  
The door is too narrow for her. Even if Britt had wanted to use force, she'd probably have a door frame saddling her shell afterward, along with an angry pharmacist and a felony charge. And it wouldn't be worth heading to another pharmacy if she doesn't have the cash. She wants a battle so she can pop someone's head off, she wants—  
  
"Lookin' pretty gloomy there."  
  
She wants idiots to take the message that she is unwilling to talk right now,  _thank you very much._  
  
Britt turns toward the speaker with her mouth pulled up in a snarl. She doesn't know if the approaching Nidorino is brave or stupid, coming close in like this. She lifts herself up to her full height and glares down. "Maybe this is my face."  
  
"Nah. Reckon a beautiful girl like yourself has a wonderful smile, if you'd just use it."  
  
Brave  _and_  stupid, if he thinks flattery will get him anywhere. "Can I help you?" she growls.  
  
There's a gleam in the Nidorino's green eyes as he looks up to the pharmacy door. "That's probably what I should be asking you. Everything okay?"  
  
"It's not any of your business, is it?" Britt scowls.  
  
It isn't, but if it phases the Nidorino, he doesn't show it. He looks up to the closed door with a knowing smile. "Fergus's known for being kind of anti-Pokémon. Don't let it get your tail in a knot."  
  
She knows enough about dealing with anti-Pokémon attitudes to get by. It's how she's survived all this time, before Eunice and True. "Asshole isn't the reason I'm pissed."  
  
"You need cash for medicine?" the Nidorino asks suddenly. She hates the sympathetic look in his eyes. "For your trainer?"  
  
Britt's eyes narrow. "What's it to you?"  
  
"Tryin' to look out for a fellow Pokémon," the Nidorino says. "If I'm frank, you're makin' it kind of hard to do that in good conscience."  
  
She'd show him good conscience. "If you can't give me what I need—"  
  
"You'd have to work for it." The Nidorino gestures down the road, pointing with his long horn. "Doing some fundraising for repairs to a little club on the west side. Tryin' to get some better grills. If you wanted to help us, and if we got enough, you could take what you needed for your friend."  
  
"That sounds like the exact opposite of fundraising," Britt mutters.  
  
"You help us, and we help you," the Nidorino says. "Kind of how we work things here. And besides, it's not like you've got anything to lose, right?"  
  
The sun is pulsing high in the sky, white-hot in a cloudless blue sky. Britt squints her eyes, sighs, and looks down, where the Nidorino is already starting to walk down the street. Like he knows she's about to follow him.  
  
Self-confident fucker.  
  
"Fine. But once I have that money, I'm gone."  
  
There isn't a sign of victory on his face, no "got ya, sucker" glint in his eyes. He simply shrugs as if he'd been expecting the retort. "Wouldn't ask anything different," the horned Pokémon says. "Now c'mon, gang's down over by my place."  
  
She's never been a praying sort, but she sends a muttered "Fuck you too, Mew" up to the heavens, and follows—  
  
"Who are you, anyway?"  
  
The Nidorino grins. "You can call me Chester."  
  


* * *

  
"Fundraiser" always put her in the mind of "expensive dinner parties with stuffy entertainment" and "high class" and "place for easy robbing because people don't pay attention to their fucking shit." Part of her wondered if she was going to arrive in an attic where people were gathered around multi-colored dice and cards, or stretched out in front of a pool bobbing for apples.  
  
If only there had been apples. She'd be fed and maybe a little less cranky.  
  
Night hadn't even fallen in the small piazza, and yet bodies were swaying. Human and Pokémon alike were yelling at the top of their lungs, flailing their arms and drinking out of bottles or opened canteens. Some squat little Growlithe was putting on a fireworks display, breathing columns of flame into bright, fleeting shapes that vanished into the cool night air. Some Psychic-type was reflecting light out of multi-colored glass, throwing color against the run-down houses. There was nothing to rob except food and a few wallets too tightly squeezed into trainers' pockets. It's not worth the effort.  
  
For the first time in a long time, Britt finds herself missing the company of her idiots.  
  
She might've been able to swipe what she needed from the collection tin, the inside shining silver with coins, but the prissy Weepinbell at her side would see, and Britt had little interest in getting herself whipped tonight. They didn't look at each other much, which was fine with Britt—for most of the night, they watched the throbbing mass grow wilder and wilder, listened to the music grow louder and louder, until it got to the point—  
  
"Any chance I could go in for a break, tea leaves?" Britt growls.  
  
By now the lamps had flared on, bright enough to be stars. The Weepinbell turns to her with the corners of her huge mouth turned down. "No one's in the restaurant. Go there."  
  
She has to wade through the crowd, but if there's one advantage to having quadrupled in size it's that people finally move out of her way the first time. She feels fists drumming against her shell and bites her tongue back, because if she doesn't she'll spray everyone, and if she does that then all this work will have been for nothing. She makes it to the back door and flings it open. It only takes a little bit of shimmying to get in through the huge doorway. She'll close everything once she comes back out.  
  
She'd heard of Pokémon-only bars, but the only ones in Vermilion charged. Even if she'd had the money, she'd pissed off too many of the owners to ever be allowed inside. The experience is new for her: there's a few tables with chairs, a bar stool, even a stage. No one had swept in the past few days, if the tiny streaks of not-dust are anything to go by. Even here though, there's nowhere for a Blastoise to comfortably sit.  
  
Well, fuck them. She only has to be here a few more hours, until morning hits, and then she'd get those pills and then she can leave this place.  
  
She doesn't know what draws her eye toward the picture near the door, but when it does she can't look away. Britt walks over to the portrait slowly, almost cautiously, and brings a hand to the framed glass. The tiny plant Pokémon isn't one she's met, not properly, but there's a familiar warmth in the red eyes, in the creases around the mouth. And once she sees the name tag, glinting gold in the darkness, she knows exactly who it is.  
  
Just how long had Grandma been a Bulbasaur?  
  
"She used to work here, y'know." Chester's voice comes into the open room before the Nidorino himself. Britt doesn't turn back to look at him, but Chester doesn't take it as a slight—he meanders close to her, sits down at her side, looking at the portrait hung at Britt's eye level. "For years. Left just a few months ago with a battling team."  
  
Did they have a talent for picking up strays?  
  
"We had a regular in the Towers, helping out with... with retrieval. You know... of—"  
  
"I know."  
  
He doesn't want to say the words, and part of Britt can't blame him. "He was with her the moment she died, I guess," Chester says. "Recognized her even if she'd evolved. And she recognized him. It was... he said she wasn't hurting, everything had just gone numb. I thought she'd just die in her sleep, if it ever came to that. Didn't think she'd go out like that."  
  
"Yeah, well," Britt says, and shuffles her feet. "Nobody expects to go out the way they do."  
  
"Mm," Chester says, and bows his head. "Anyway. Thought we'd put up a picture. Thought she might like that. Her or anyone who knew her."  
  
Britt  _doesn't_  like it; it's gratuitous and frames Grandma as some kind of hero who'd been stolen from the world before her time. She hadn't done anything more than so many Pokémon had done: gone out fighting to defend something they held precious. Where were their plaques? In other shitty Pokémon-only establishments?  
  
"Heard her team got out okay," Britt says. "In case you wanted to know."  
  
Chester looks up to her with wide glistening eyes. "How do you—?"  
  
"I was there too," she snaps.  
  
He leaves her alone after that.  
  
They all do, once she's off her break. Word must spread somehow, or maybe this fundraiser has become part memorial, because donations suddenly come pouring in so quickly that they have to get more collection jars. The donors don't meet her eyes, just let go of their precious cargo and go back to a suddenly muted dance floor.  
  
There comes a time when new dancers don't come in to replace the ones who leave, sore-footed and yearning for their beds. Each time Britt comes close to falling asleep, she fires a tiny burst of water from one of her cannons—it flies straight up and comes back down in a mist, coating her face and the bit of wall behind her. The party doesn't officially end until the lamps switch off, and by then there are only a few Pokémon left in the square, helping the staff clean up.  
  
She does her part by washing the cobblestone after everything's over, so that it glistens like heavy-handed dew in the morning light.  
  
Britt stands in the corner, her arms as close to folded as they'll ever get, until Chester and the Growlithe approach her. Inside the fire dog's mouth is her pouch, heavy with coins. Britt eyes it warily before she takes it. "Thanks."  
  
"Might be able to get those new stoves after all," the Growlithe pants. "So thanks right back."  
  
Chester closes his eyes and looks up at the pink-threaded sky. "Pharmacy will be opening any moment, so go ahead and get out of here."  
  
She doesn't need another invitation, and leaves them with a shake of her paw.  
  
It's only when she's out of their line of sight that she opens the pouch and counts the money. There's  _way_  more in here than she had expected, maybe enough for three boxes of medicine. If she was a noble type, she'd go back and barter with them. But if they gave her the money, they gave her the money, and it'd be stupid to try and argue with their own consciences when they're working to her advantage.  
  
She fishes out the folded box from the space between her neck and the lip of her shell, and holds both the pouch and the box in her paw as she sets off for the pharmacy. That Nidorino had called him something, but it doesn't matter. She'll get medicine, she'll get out of here, she'll—  
  
Get stared at by a tired-eyed Casey.  
  
Small world.  
  
He doesn't notice her at first, he's slouched over a folded paper note in his paws. It's only when she's about to cross the street that he wakes back up and looks at her, ears twitching. "That supposed to be threatening?" she calls out, standing beside him.  
  
"You were only supposed to be gone a few hours," Casey growls. "The hell were you doing?"  
  
She's too tired to put up with his bullshit. The pouch is almost as big as him, which is pathetic. He rifles through the pouch, suddenly wide-eyed and alert, and looks back up at her with a wariness in his eyes. "Where'd you get this?"  
  
"Stripped," she says, and when Casey coughs in surprise, she rolls her eyes. "I didn't steal it. Or find it on the ground. I worked for it."  
  
"You—"  
  
But that's when the door opens, and the huge-mustached man comes to the door, hard-eyed. "I told you yesterday, Blastoise, you can't come in here."  
  
Britt rips the pouch from Casey and shoves it into the man's surprised hands. "However many boxes that pays for," she growls, slapping the box alongside the pouch. "That enough to satisfy you?"  
  
The man looks down at the pouch, then at the medicine container, then sighs. "Be right back," he mutters, and closes the door on himself.  
  
"She get any better since I left you?"  
  
There's a noise in the back of Casey's throat, like he wants to say something but is thinking better of it. Finally he sighs. "She kept asking where you were."  
  
It didn't answer her question. "Who'd you send to try and find me?"  
  
"Wilkes." The little rat pauses, closing his eyes. "When he came back and told us you were okay, she was finally able to fall back asleep."  
  
Son of a bitch.  
  
The pharmacy door opens with the jingling of a bell, and in one blurred motion there are two boxes and a much-lighter pouch slammed into her paw. "Next time, bring a human," the man grunts, and disappears as quickly as he'd come.  
  
"Well fuck you too, asshole," Britt growls, and slips the pouch into the open spot between her neck and her shelled shoulder. She's just about to put the boxes of cold medicine in the hollow space between her neck and shell, but Casey meets her eyes. "What? He  _was_."  
  
"I..." He looks like he's in pain. "Thanks."  
  
It's more than she had expected, anyway.  
  
It only takes an hour or two to swim back up the river. Casey holds the boxes of medicine tightly between his paws and rides on her shell. Fighting against the current gives Britt something to do, and she throws herself into her task with gusto. The river twists and turns between hills and forests, so that by the time the two of them reach the house around high-noon, it feels as though they're far away from any other human civilization.  
  
Casey disappears back into the house. Wilkes meets her eyes and nods. She doesn't see Clara or Jackson until late night, blood smeared on smiles. She's forced to listen to Jackson talk about his flight training with Clara, and is even given a little demonstration—he gets as high up as the upper branches of a nearby tree before losing control and crashing to the ground.  
  
Maybe it's all the Grandma talk, but she gives him a thumbs up and tells him to rest.  
  
Around mid-afternoon Casey comes back out, tired-eyed but content: the medicine's working and True is sleeping regularly. Everyone cheers except Britt, who stays awake only for a few more moments before falling back asleep. She wakes up a few hours later and gathers a dinner of water plants and lanky Goldeen, picking the bones clean and setting them back into the water. They float for a few moments before falling down underneath the currents.  
  
By the time the stars are out, she's the only one left awake. The river dribbles at her feet, nipping her clawed toes with icy water. It'd be easy to slip in and under and never be seen again, she thinks. If it wasn't for the Poké Ball, drawing her here, maybe she would. She flops onto her pale belly with a groan and a small splash, and pulls her arms in—  
  
And then a twig snaps.  
  
She's expecting an enemy Pokémon, or maybe even Jackson, with the weight. The last person she expects to see is True, who holds a wad of tissue to her bright-red nose. She stares at Britt hesitantly for a few moments, forcefully blows her nose, then sticks it into the front pouch of her massive sweatshirt. "Can I... talk with you?"  
  
She sounds pathetic and sick, which shouldn't surprise her. It does, though. Britt nods and True edges closer to her, arms folded tightly in front. It's a far cry from the girl who, only days ago now, had been desperate to find the rest of her team, had commanded her Pokemon confidently in battle, had stood her ground against a terrorist organization. There's a shadow of her in this sick girl's eyes, though, and that's what keeps Britt's attention.  
  
"Casey told me about what you did, and... thanks. I really... Thank you."  
  
"Hmm," Britt says, and closes her eyes. "Anything else?"  
  
"No," True says, looking down at her shoes. "Then I guess I'm... maybe once I'm better, we can train? And it could, um, it could be you and me, or it could—"  
  
"She wasn't in pain when she died."  
  
She has no idea what makes her say that, or what makes her turn her head to look at True, whose mouth has fallen open with surprise. Sick though she may be, at least True understands what she's saying. One hand comes up to wipe away a bubble of snot from her nose; the other is curled into a tight, shaking fist. "H-How do you know that?"  
  
"Someone told me. Not the guy who was with her. Some Nidorino. Maybe he was just trying to make himself feel better, I don't know, but if it's true... Well, now we know."  
  
True sniffs, but Britt doubts it's from trying to suck snot back in.  
  
"Should we have stayed?" True asks softly. "I didn't want to face—I didn't want to be where all the cameras were, I just wanted... somewhere to be s-safe, to  _grieve_ , and that wasn't it—"  
  
"Don't justify yourself to me," Britt says. She's not good with the touchy-feely stuff like Casey is, like everyone else on this team. Definitely not like Minka. She's comfortable with cold, harsh reality, not soppy "what-if"s and "if only we had done this differently"s. There is no going back. "You're the trainer. You made a decision. Live with it."  
  
Maybe she should feel bad about it, because True's staring at her as though she's had the floor ripped from underneath her. Britt sighs and, with some effort, pushes herself up off the ground and walks toward her trainer. Up close, Britt can see True's bloodshot eyes, her cheeks flushed from fever, her knees shaking. She puts a heavy clawed paw on True's back and guides her, wordless, back to the house and back to a warm bed. They have to stop a few times for True to catch her breath, to stop herself from shaking. It's nighttime and the only thing Britt could be doing now is sleep, so she waits with her.  
  
Just before they get to the door, True stops one more time, her hand pressed down on the door knob. "I'm... thank you. Really."  
  
Britt doesn't say anything, just forces the door open with a shove.  
  
When True doesn't look back, when she closes the door, Britt sighs and settles down on the ground. She sees the light of Jackson's tail flame a little ways away, his body curled around it with wings carelessly unfolded. Clara is nearby, perched on a mighty tree. Wilkes... who knows what Ghosty does in his spare time. Nobody. There's no need to wonder where Casey is, where he will be. And as for Britt...  
  
Britt settles right in front of the house, keeping one eye open.


	53. Chapter Forty-Nine

_There are announcers talking, but I can't hear what they're saying. I don't care. The only things that matter are in this sandy space: me and my opponent.  
  
There's only the rough sand underneath my feet and my heart racing in my chest, my cheeks burning with electricity as I fire off a Thunderbolt. The Arcanine dodges the attack just by a hair, but I ram a glowing fist against his cheek. It stuns him and I'm able to jump onto his back, brown fists full of long creamy fur. He's hot underneath me but from here he can't escape—Thunder rips from me with a cry, and the Arcanine is crying before he finally thrashes so hard that I'm sent flying.  
  
"That'll hurt in the morning," I hear someone say—an announcer, the referee?  
  
Fire washes over me and I scream, it burns the way my electricity doesn't. I feel the side of my face start to blister, and every time I move my arm I want to cry. But I don't, not until the long fangs are sinking into my injured arm. Electricity doesn't blow it back, and my tail is flying uselessly around me, striking nothing.  
  
I think I hear my name. That's when the Arcanine drops me and there's a thud, my body landing on blood-slick sand. What's worse than feeling like you're on fire? Feeling nothing at all. The second wave of fire that washes over me feels like water—and then I open my eyes and realize that's just what it is.  
  
Cassidy stares at me with manic eyes, with her spine hunched and her teeth bared, and lunges.  
  
"Casey!"  
  
It's only then that I see Minka's body on the edge of the battlefield, fear frozen on her dead face.  
  
_"Casey!"  
  
And I wake up with a yell.  
  
It takes a few moments for me to put myself back together again. I fumble in the blankets—why are these wet and so warm?—and look up at the ceiling, at the window and the lightening sky through it, before I settle on True. She's not in the bed, she's standing just a few inches off the side, and holds her hands close to her chest. It's hot as hell in this room but she's trembling as though she's in a snowstorm. "You were—you were having a ni-nightmare, and I—I thought it'd be best if I wo-woke you up, and—"  
  
"I'm fine," I say, even though my racing heart and dry mouth say otherwise. "I'm... are you okay?"  
  
She doesn't answer. The dark circles under her eyes haven't started fading yet—if anything they're getting darker, or maybe she's getting paler. "You didn't hurt me."  
  
Thank Arceus for small miracles.  
  
The blanket is warm with sleep and something else, and I know what that "something else" is even before I take a sniff. The last time I'd wet myself in the bed was right after Al had died, and back then I had been little. Young enough to be excused. This is inexcusable.  
  
"They... Bill has a washing machine," True says softly. "We can fix this."  
  
The blankets, maybe. I don't think she can fix me by shoving me in a washer.  
  
We gather up the soiled sheets and toss them in the washing machine. The circle clock in the corner ticks relentlessly: fifteen minutes until six, the earliest we'd been up in weeks. With a few turned knobs and pushed buttons the whirring of the machine is the loudest sound in the room, but somehow I still keep hearing that tick, tick, tick. True washes me in the tiny sink in the bathroom, running me over with a washcloth and soap and warm water—I let her, because it's easier for the both of us for me to not fight her.  
  
There's no use getting static in a towel that True will use to wash herself later, so I shake most of the water off. The rest weighs me down, but it will dry later. "I'm sorry," I tell True, who's leaning with her elbows against the wet counter. "For the... you know."  
  
True looks down at me, empty-eyed, and brushes her thumb against the top of my head.  
  
That scares me more than anything. "Do you want something to eat?"  
  
Nothing. It's only when I start to ask the question again that she nods, a slight little jerk of her head. She takes the lead into the open living room and I follow.  
  
It has been three weeks since the Silph fiasco and the ceremony we'd ditched for a tiny house in the middle of nowhere. Two weeks since Britt had disappeared into Cerulean doing Arceus-knew-what to get medicine after True had fallen ill. Barring a few close calls—the latest was three days ago, Jackson had almost crashed into the house wall during a flying lesson—everything had been quiet. There had been no connection with the outside world. Bill had promised that only a few people even knew that there was a house on the Cerulean Cape, and if they tried to come toward us, the hordes of wild Pokémon were enough to keep most snoopers away.  
  
And if that failed, well, we had Britt.  
  
It's a short walk from the bedroom and the living room. In sheer size Bill's living room is larger than our Saffron apartment had been, but he'd crammed it full with bookshelves, a large computer protected by a password, and several comfy couches. There was even a TV in the corner, sitting on a plain storage unit, but no one had dared to turn it on. We find Wilkes hovering above the gas stove in the kitchen, watching the sun come up against the tall pines. He doesn't turn to us as we slink up behind him, instead looking out the window where Jackson is curled up in the yard. One dark hand floats toward True's, the tip-pointed fingers fully extended. "Finally decide to roll out of bed?" he whispers.  
  
The microwave near the top shelf reads 6:07. "Since when is six in the morning 'rolling out of bed'?" I ask.  
  
Wilkes turns slightly toward me. "The Master has been awake for several hours."  
  
True is too focused on the carton of eggs she sets on the counter, and the iron pan she pulls from the rack overhead, to meet me in the eye.  
  
How far deep had I been in that dream, if I couldn't tell if True was awake?  
  
The clatter of the fork spinning in the ceramic bowl wakes Jackson, who peers in sleepily through the window. Clara comes up beside him as the eggs sizzle in their pan, popping with butter and salt. I'm pulling out two slices of bread of the toaster just as Britt throws the door open with blood on her mouth. She takes one long look at True, who is bent over the plate trying to scrape every bit of two scrambled eggs onto her toast, before laying down on the rug near the television tucked in the corner.  
  
It's only when True has settled into a squishy green armchair by the bookcase dedicated to Pokémon evolution that Jackson squeezes in, keeping his wings close to his slim body. Only Clara stays outside, but she pokes her head in, teasing the leaves of a particularly green plant near the corner with her beak. It's for the best anyway—the room may be larger, but Jackson and Britt had doubled or tripled in size with evolution, and even without—  
  
There's just not enough room for everybody.  
  
True eats half of her egg-and-toast before she puts her plate on the floor beside her. I watch Jackson swallow the rest with one bite and lick the grease off with a long pink tongue; his eyes meet mine as if he's expecting me to say something. I'm too worn out.  
  
It's Britt who's the first to speak. "So what's the plan for today?"  
  
It takes a second for True to lift her head, to properly acknowledge her words. "Plan?"  
  
"Something more than waiting for sheets to get clean," the Blastoise says. "Train, or get more supplies, seeing what's new in the world—"  
  
"No," I mutter.  
  
Britt turns to me, eyes narrowed. "Am I talking to you?"  
  
Well. No. "But—"  
  
"Then shut the fuck up and let her be the trainer."  
  
I don't know whose eyes go wider: mine, Clara's, or True's.  
  
Britt pushes herself off the floor clumsily, and it's not for the first time that I wonder if evolution has hindered Britt, rather than strengthened her. I wouldn't ever say it to her face—I like living—especially when she rises to her full height. She towers over the sitting True, who looks back with an empty expression.  
  
Somehow this seems to spur Britt on more. "You've been sick, and I gave you time to recover from that. But your nose isn't running anymore, you can obviously stand up and cook and do laundry. Birdbrain has been teaching Hothead how to fly—"  
  
Clara squawks indignantly from the doorway, feathers ruffled.  
  
"And he's doing it, but that's something  _you_  should be out there for. Not holed up in your room with the lights off. We're borrowing this place, we can't live here, because sooner or later the guy who owns it is going to come  _back_. I don't know about you, but if this were my house I wouldn't want some strangers taking up all the space."  
  
"Bill understood that we might be here a while, I asked, and he said it would be okay." Britt might as well be a skyscraper for how tall she is, but I stand up and I look her dead in the eye, as if she were that Arcanine. "We all needed the space away from—the reporters, and every busybody who wanted to 'thank us for our service'!"  
  
"And we've had space," Britt says. "Now we pick ourselves up and get going again."   
  
"This sort of trauma isn't something you just—just get over!" I yell. "You don't know what you're talking about—"  
  
"Maybe I'd know if people started talking to me about these things!" Britt roars.  
  
"You don't need to know every single thing that goes around here!"  
  
"Neither do you, but you manage to stick your nose into everything!"  
  
"Don't you tell me what—"  
  
The buzzer on the washing machine goes off with a sudden shriek. True stands up suddenly, almost fluid, and without another glance to Britt and I makes her way over to the washing machine. There's no dryer here; we'd been hanging clothes and towels on clothesline outside, weather permitting. One quick peek is enough for me to tell that there are no heavy clouds.  
  
True's voice shakes as she gathers the wet blankets and sheets in her arms; they engulf her and weigh her down. We don't see her head but we can hear her call out "Wilkes?" with a shaking voice.  
  
She doesn't give instructions, but Wilkes seems to know what to do, and grabs corners of the blanket in his smoking hands. I edge toward her, but she doesn't look at me; Britt doesn't even watch as the two head outside. Clara steps just out of their way to make room before following them, her beak clicking softly.  
  
Jackson's heavy paw crashes down on the plate, breaking it clean in two. He doesn't seem to notice; he's looking at the two of us instead, eyes narrowed. "What happened to keeping your head?"  
  
It doesn't mean anything to me, but Britt lifts her head defiantly. "I'm trying to help her find hers."  
  
Jackson snorts, lifts his lips in my direction, and stumbles out the front door.  
  
With the six of us, the living room had seemed cramped. Now that it's only Britt and me, I should feel like there's more room. There isn't. It feels like someone's taken all the air out—or maybe True took it with her, and that's why I'm breathless.  
  
"You want to settle this like proper Pokémon, or do we need to talk it out?" Britt growls.  
  
Depends. "Can I even trust you to talk?"  
  
She pauses. "You keep her locked inside her head all the time. It's not healthy for her. The sooner she gets out of bed and out of this house, the better it'll be for all of us."  
  
"You don't know her," I say. "What she's been through—"  
  
"That right there," Britt interrupts, pointing a claw at me, "is what's holding her back. That attitude. You're wrapping her in bubble wrap and she can't breathe. You think you're trying to protect her and all you're doing is killing her."  
  
"That's not my fault," I say. "That's—"  
  
"Stupid?" Britt laughs. "Yeah. Fucking stupid."  
  
Part of me wants to know if this is Kerri speaking through Britt, or if this is me wishing that I had the Nidorina in front of me now. Kerri had been stubborn as a fucking rock and she knew how to push my buttons. I'd hated her for it. She also had her heart in the right place; she'd died protecting me and Jackson and True, in a way, right to the end.  
  
I understood that about her. I could appreciate it. I didn't understand what made Britt tick, or why she was so adamant in proving herself right, even if it meant causing rifts in the team.  
  
"You know what they say about broken bones?" Britt asks suddenly.  
  
I close my eyes. "I don't need any 'they get stronger' shit."  
  
"Sometimes they shatter and there's no use trying to fix them." She says this unapologetically, as if this isn't some sort of fucked-up metaphor. She starts to trudge out of the living room and it's all I can do to not zap the shit out of her. Instead I force myself to breathe through my nose, even as I feel electricity tickle the inside of my cheeks.  
  
"You're saying True's a lost cause?" I growl.  
  
Britt stops just short of the threshold. She doesn't turn to me, but I hear her words. "Don't know yet," she says, and leaves me alone in a house that suddenly seems too empty.  
  


* * *

  
I should be outside with them, but the air's too full of wildflowers and pollen for me to breathe. So I watch as Clara and True stretch out the blankets, watch Wilkes pin them to the hanging clothesline. A ways away in the yard, Jackson is trying to hover; he lasts a good thirty seconds but his wings aren't made to keep him standing still, not this close to the ground, and he falls.  
  
It gets a smile on True's face, which is something I haven't been able to do in three weeks.  
  
The last time I had seen my brother alive had been right before he'd left for Victory Road. They were only staying one day, and it became clear almost immediately that it was only for my benefit—they wanted to be on the road as soon as possible, to give themselves enough time to train for the Great Race. Training now would mean less accidents later, either against the other qualifying trainers hoping to get up to the Indigo Plateau, or against the Elite Four and the Champion themselves.  
  
"But it's nice to take breaks every once in a while though, right?" I had asked, as he had dunked his head in the shallow banks of the river.  
  
"Break too much too long," he'd said, shaking water out of his fur, "and you lose the progress you'd made."  
  
If one day had been enough to make Al antsy about falling behind, what would he have thought of three weeks?  
  
What would Minka have thought? Kerri? Peter?  
  
I squeeze my eyes so tightly shut that I see stars, but they arrange themselves into shy gold eyes, wide smiles, cocky grins. I open them in the hopes that I'll be able to replace dead faces with those of the living instead.  
  
I see glowing purple eyes instead, and flinch so hard that I fall onto the counter top.  
  
"And here I thought I was getting better," Wilkes murmurs, and extends a clawed hand. "My apologies."  
  
His hand is right there for the taking, but I ignore it and push myself up back up. I check outside—none of the others have turned toward us, are focused more on Jackson trying to keep himself airborne. "I just wasn't... all here."  
  
"Mm," Wilkes murmurs, and turns back outside. "That seems to be a common affliction among the group."  
  
Anger flares. If he was talking about True—  
  
"It's Jackson's own fear of falling that keeps him from true flight," Wilkes says. I'm stunned for a moment. When I don't response, he continues, "Britt is having to face her previous assumptions about teams, and her role in this one. Clara senses the stress of everyone else and feels powerless to assuage it. True blames herself for the death of your two former teammates, and Minka." He catches my eye. "Guilt, fear, isolation, regret. Each of us is feeling something right now that limits us."  
  
"Including you?"  
  
He nods. "Guilt, that I was not able to keep her from death... and jealousy, that I was not able to follow her."  
  
Wilkes had only come on this journey to fulfill some crazy dying wish, or to die, or whatever. I had never asked him about it, because I didn't want to talk about that finality—not with someone who didn't seem to realize how precious  _life_  was. "We not enough to live for?" I mutter, looking back into the yard. True was cradling Jackson's head in her hands, brushing her fingers against his thin, curled horns.  
  
"That isn't the issue," Wilkes says. "And we are not focused on me. Out of all of us—"  
  
"How do you even know what we're feeling anyway?" I ask. "You... do that energy thing?"  
  
"To feed myself? Yes. Sometimes I pick up hints. But I can never know for sure unless I see into your dreams."  
  
My stomach turns to lead. "You can use that technique?"  
  
Wilkes hesitates. "Not in a true sense. I get only flashes. But again, you drive me from my main point. All of us are battling demons, reawakened by Minka's death. But you... you seem to have given up fighting before the battle has even started."  
  
"That's none of your business," I growl. "Just—stay out of my head—"  
  
"Ten years of carrying your brother must get tiring."  
  
Every ounce of fight leaves me. I look up at Wilkes, my paws curled into fists. I try to speak, but I can't say anything. Wilkes looks down at me and sighs. "I didn't see into your dreams, but we were told of your... history, with the Champion. It explains things. You cannot begin to truly heal unless you accept your grief, and then place it away from you."  
  
 _"You have to let me go, bro."_  That's what he had said, in my dream in Vermilion.  
  
I'd told him no.  
  
"So unless you can—"  
  
He doesn't get to finish his sentence. Jackson's roar pierces the air. Both Wilkes and I turn to the window to see Jackson standing in front of True, wings wide open and head stretched high. Britt pokes her head out from her shell, sleepy eyed, and turns to the forest where Jackson is glaring. Clara stands beside True, who grips the Fearow's feathered collar. All of us watch the yellow figure approach from the trees.  
  
Did Wilkes have the power to summon demons, too?  
  
Tanza has a long case in one paw, but he raises the other—from far away it looks like a greeting, as though he's returned home after a long and weary journey, but as he comes closer I can see that it's one of submission. He keeps his head down as he approaches the five outside; his tail drags against the dirt and picks up pine needles.  
  
There has to be a conversation; I hear Jackson's snarls and see True throw a worried glance back to the house, back to me and Wilkes. If I were any sort of partner I'd run outside right now, but fear keeps me rooted next to the window sill. It's curiosity that keeps my nose to the glass, that keeps my eyes fixated on Tanza, on that case.  
  
I don't move from my spot as Tanza and True come into the house by themselves. True pulls the door shut and catches my eye in the kitchen. Tanza stands beside her, adjusting his hold on the oblong case.  
  
"How did you find us?" I whisper.  
  
Either my question is what he expected or his hearing is better than I'd thought, because Tanza answers me in a familiar, steady voice. "Bill is a friend of ours."  
  
 _Ours_.  
  
"Did the Champion send you here?" Wilkes asks, floating closer to True.  
  
Tanza answers, but his eyes are on me. "Yes."  
  
"Why isn't he with you?"  
  
"Chris has… other things to attend to."  
  
So rather than make promises about seeing me that he'll break, he just doesn't bother showing up. Why am I not surprised?  
  
True curls herself up into a ball on the far end of the couch, her eyes peeking out from her overgrown bangs. Tanza doesn't approach her, standing close to the television screen. "You look like you've been doing well."  
  
Her eyes shift nervously to mine, and it's only this eye contact that pulls me away from my vigil by the window. I don't cozy up to her the way I usually do, the way I should, but instead I take a seat on the arm, just within a hand's reach. Her fingers are hesitant when they stroke my back; with each brush I feel myself relaxing, but only by degrees, and not when I'm staring at the Electabuzz. "What are you doing here?"  
  
He doesn't try for pleasantries after that. "Bill is an old friend of ours, and he told us where you had gone. We gave you space to grieve. Chris wanted to give you longer."  
  
How can I trust anything that comes out of Tanza's mouth, or Chris's, after everything that's happened?  
  
He bends down and unlocks the case a tiny ways. He pulls out a small object and sets it down on the long table between us. "Since you were absent from the... the ceremony, we were unable to give you this."  
  
It's a well-sized urn, colored the same blue-green as Minka's weathered skin. There isn't much adornment: the bottom flares out like petals, and the two handles are thin and delicate, sculpted like vines. It looks more like a trophy than an urn, but maybe that's how they had intended it to look: a resting place for what little remained of a fallen warrior.  
  
There had been no way to grab her body when we'd run from Saffron. We knew better, but sometimes I would think that Minka was just picking out flowers or berries, that she'd be back to the house by sunset. Now that the urn is in front of us, it seems... final. Deliberate.  
  
"We will be erecting a memorial in front of Silph Tower for those who fell. Many opted into it… but we didn't know if that's what you would want. You're free to decide—"  
  
"I'm not leaving her there," True whispers. She pulls her hand away from me and curls it close to her chest. "We'll—we'll take care of her, but I can't—not there. Not there."  
  
If Tanza is surprised, he doesn't show it. "We will respect your decision. As of now, what remains of your teammate belongs to you."  
  
 _What remains._  Everything that Minka had been—her large body, her strong vines, her kind eyes, her smile her sense of humor her love for us—is in that urn. Final. Deliberate.  
  
"Thank you for returning her to us," Wilkes says. He takes the urn in his hands and rubs a clawed finger over the lid. "And for coming all this way."  
  
It seems too strange to think that Wilkes would be the one most "together"—True isn't speaking and I'm... well, I'm a fucking mess, aren't I? Wilkes puts the urn on a high bookshelf, out of reach but in plain sight, and comes back closer to the ground.  
  
"It was no problem," Tanza says, and sighs. "Chris wanted to be here to do... all of this, but Silph was the manufacturer of all of Kanto's Poké Balls and trainer supplies. We're in crisis mode trying to stabilize and soothe the region."  
  
Things we'd know if we had turned on the television.  
  
"I'll have to be going soon," Tanza says quietly. His grip tightens on the handle of the long case as he walks over to me and sets it down on the ground, as if he's offering a sacrifice and I'm a deity. "But this... this is something you should have had a long time ago, Casey."  
  
And he opens the case wide.  
  
It takes me a second to realize what it is, and when I do I feel my mouth drop. I didn't think I'd ever see this again, not after ten years. But there it is, sitting in the red velvet lining. Everything inch of the guitar has been polished to brilliance: the brown wood shines, the gold tuners gleam, and even the Tauros-mane strings glimmer. But even with the glare I can see thin scars on the wood—places where his tail had kept a beat to play to.  
  
I don't say anything. I can't. I can only look up at Tanza, who's looking back at me with glassy eyes. Tanza rests the guitar case on the ground and picks up the instrument delicately as if it were made of glass. It's dwarfed in his massive hands. "We meant to give this to you a long, long time ago… but things came up, and I… we," Tanza corrects. "We both thought that it was time you finally got this back."  
  
I don't feel myself walking away from True until I hold the instrument in my paws. When I edge my leg, just as he taught me to, it fits perfectly into the bowed space; when I move my paw up and down the thin guitar neck, it feels natural. Tanza's eyes are just as much a weight on me as the guitar is. From the corner of my eyes I see Wilkes, looking at me with a guarded interest.  
  
The only thing that doesn't fit is the dark strap that hangs loose down my back. It's meant for a taller Pokémon, with broader shoulders.  
  
"It isn't mine," I hear myself say, a million miles away.  
  
Tanza answers just as quietly. "This instrument deserves to be played. You... should be the one playing it."  
  
Is there anything that can be said right now? Not from me, not when I finally have a tangible piece of my brother in my paws. I'm tensely aware of True's eyes on me, on Wilkes's words from earlier—that sooner of later I'd have to let my brother go. How could I now, when this instrument has found its way back to me?  
  
"We won't be able to talk like this again for a while," Tanza says. My eyes don't leave the guitar, but I can hear him shift his weight and stand up. "If you're still intent on taking the League challenge, we will see you in November. But until then... Kanto thanks you for your service." Tanza leaves the case right where he left it and stands up, eyes closed. It isn't until he gets to the front door that I look up at the Electabuzz.  
  
My fingers move of their own accord. Notes hover in the air before fading into the room. There's a tap on the glass window. I sneak a glance and see Jackson staring in, his eyes fixated on the sound.  
  
A few notes invite others. Even though my paws are shaking, I can at least strum through a few chords, rocking between them back and forth, back and forth. The strings have been replaced; they're nice and strong against my fingers, hard to pluck. This isn't a burning pain or a drowning pain, though. This is a pain that I can harden myself against, accept, look forward to.  
  
True's finger rests on my shoulder, hesitant but present. I feel Wilkes and Jackson staring at me from above, from the window. I don't know if I want to hold this guitar so close that it melts into my body, or fling it as far away from me as possible—if we take it with us, where will we put it? I can't have it on my body all the time, what if True needs me? What if I need her?  
  
Did I just open Pandora's Box?  
  
Tanza doesn't look at me when he opens the door, but our eyes catch when he goes to shut it. I hear Britt growl something from the other side and wince, but Tanza doesn't seem concerned at all. He gives me one last look and lifts his hand—a farewell, a surrender.  
  
I swear that someone sobbed. I swear it wasn't me.


	54. Chapter Fifty

“ _Sittin’ in the mornin’—_ ”  
  
Twang!  
  
“ _I’ll—_ ”  
  
Skrrrrrt!  
  
“ _Wa—_ ”  
  
I see the gold string glint in the light before it snaps right in my face.  
  
Pain flares as the guitar drops onto my toes, and I howl. My paws don’t know where to go—cover the bruise that’s surely forming on my nose, or tend to the throbbing pain of my feet? I make a compromise, one to each, and rub, all while staring at the guitar with watery eyes.  
  
If you run, it’s a five second trip from the kitchen to Bill’s library, a small room overtaken by shelves upon shelves of books. True gets there in four, her hands white and frothy from washing dishes. “I thought I heard you—are you okay?”  
  
It takes a bit of maneuvering, but I can wipe away the tears in my eyes “My dose ‘urts,” I whine. “An’ my does.”  
  
“Your… toes and your nose?” she asks, and leans down on the dark wood floor. “Lemme see.”  
  
“M’fine,” I whimper, even as her hands gently bring my paws away from my face.  
  
“Yeah, you are,” she agrees. “A little red, but I  _think_  you’ll be okay. Although maybe you shouldn't do… um. What were you doing?”  
  
I look over to Al’s guitar and the three broken strings drooping from the neck, like Ekans waiting in the grass. “Tryin' to play,” I say, and wiggle my nose. It hurts, but not as much as it had a few seconds ago. “Whoever strung that did a shit job.”  
  
“There’s a right and wrong way to string a guitar?” True asks.  
  
“Right and wrong way to do dishes,” I combat.  
  
She smiles at this and wipes her hands on her jeans. It’s only been a day since Tanza’s unexpected visit and yet the dark shadows under True’s eyes have lightened; there’s warmth in her cheeks; some of the shine has come back into her hair. She’s been sleeping better at night and, early last night, even went out to train with Jackson and Britt. I don’t dare to hope that we might be coming back from an upswing, that soon True will stop crying every night, but I can notice the trend. I can like it.  
  
“I’m thinking about going into town to get some supplies,” she says.  
  
Britt and Clara had been sent to Cerulean to grab local produce for dinner and some bags of Pokémon food a few times, but True had always stayed at home. “What’re we having for food?”  
  
“Not sure yet,” she says. “Maybe there’s a music shop where we can get some strings? You want to come with?”  
  
I would have come even if she hadn't asked. There’s only a tiny twinge of pain in my feet as I shuffle to grab the guitar, sliding the strap around my shoulders.  
  
True eyes the guitar warily before addressing me. "I won't be able to carry you like that."  
  
I have to take the guitar, though. It's gone so long without a proper owner, I can  _feel it_  when I hold the instrument, that to leave it behind... no. But I find a position on True's shoulder that keeps the guitar from slamming into her head or against her back. It's an uncomfortable position, but sacrifices have to be made.  
  
Britt’s the only one in the living room when True and I shuffle out of the library, sitting criminally close to the television with one paw hovering over the on switch. “Heading out?”  
  
“We’ll be back with food,” True promises. “Unless you wanted to come with us?”  
  
Somehow, we’d all agreed on one unspoken rule: no talking about what happened in Saffron. Later that extended to “don’t look into press coverage,” which meant no television and no radio. Us leaving the house to go to town, an hour away, guaranteed Britt a window of time to catch a glimpse into the world we’d pulled away from.  
  
“No,” Britt says.  
  
If True knows Britt’s plan, she doesn’t say anything, and leaves the house with a farewell wave behind her.  
  
Wilkes and Clara are too engrossed in an aerial battle to pay us mind. But Jackson, who had been watching on the sidelines, follows us without a word. Wilkes only has a moment to nod his approval before jumping up to avoid a stream of wind from Clara’s furiously-beating wings.  
  
“Why were they battling?” I ask, tightening the strap around my shoulders.  
  
“Practice,” Jackson says, as he stomps beside us. “Clara’s trying to hit him, and Wilkes is trying to keep from being hit.”  
  
“ _Can_  he be hit by her?” True asks, already grabbing for the Pokédex in her back pocket.  
  
Most of the walk is spent flipping through the Pokédex, looking at our stats and abilities. (Wilkes  _can_  be hit by Clara, but only if she uses Drill Peck. Britt is the strongest member of the team; I’m the weakest.) The chiming of the red machine is enough to attract wild Pokémon, but one look at Jackson sends them fleeing back for their forest homes. The trainers, too, keep themselves away from us as they stare at Jackson—he stares back, paws clenched into fists, as his tail-flame burns light yellow.  
  
We’re equally tense going back into public. But we’ll be fine. “We’ll be fine,” I breathe, as if that will be enough to quench our nerves.  
  
And it is, for a tiny bit, until we see the Nugget Bridge gleaming over a nearby hill. I take one long look at Jackson, who had been found here; who had burned me here; who had trained with Kerri here. Judging by the glassy look in his eyes he remembers it too, but he sees me looking and puts on a brave face: jutted chin, tall head, showing just enough teeth to make me lean back.  
  
The nervous energy I’d been feeling seems magnified the second we step into city limits. The winding streets are alive with people, but they don’t move—their heads are up and their arms are crossed; some have hands to their mouths. None of them pay us any mind as we approach, though it’s hard to get through the hordes crowded around shop windows and dining tables. People on benches lean close to each other with headphones secure on their heads. Hands are gripped tight.  
  
There’s a lump in my throat. I can practically hear True’s heart start to thump.  
  
There’s no hope getting into one of the shops to see the TV, but there are several radios playing the same station, each echoing the same feminine voice. Right underneath a music shop—I don’t think we would have found it this easily if the people had been moving—is a group of sour-faced older men and women, each of them almost hanging out of their chairs.  
  
“Still no word on how this will affect this year’s Kanto Pokémon League tournament—we advise all trainers listening in to cease serious training until the League finishes deliberations…”  
  
What the hell had happened?  
  
“You lost or something?” an older man asks.  
  
True’s hands are shaking even when I press my nose against her cheek. “I-I've been out of town, and—”  
  
“Travelin’ out in the wild, ‘course,” he says, and shifts his hat to cover up a bald spot. “Well, it’s mighty complicated, but—”  
  
“Micah,” a broad-nosed woman hisses, “you’re missing it.”  
  
The balding man—Micah—scoots over just enough to give True space to lean in. There are no more chairs to sit in, so True kneels down by the plastic table. I jump on as Jackson settles himself behind us, wings partially open.  
  
“No other statements from the League have been made since Champion Mancon’s address approximately two hours ago—”  
  
What the hell had Chris done this time?  
  
“Representatives from Hoenn’s Devon Corporation have already agreed to send shipments of healing supplies out to Kanto to lessen the burden until the region can stabilize its medicines. No word yet on whether the neighboring Johto will do the same thing with their natural remedies.  
  
“In other news, the Sinnoh League is starting to wrap up—”  
  
Micah huffs long and low, forcing his sitting neighbors to lean in close to the radio. “News these days, never stay long on the good stuff. Anyway, what was I saying… yeah, guess the League went snoopin’ around Silph to see what else Team Rocket was foolin’ around with and it looks like they’ve been tamperin’ with some sort of formula and had started mass-producin’ it. No one thought to check what was comin’ from Silph because, well, it’s  _Silph_. Anyway, that’s why all the other regions are sendin’ some of their stock over. Balls seem to work just fine, or so they say, but that’s what they said about the potions, ain’t it—”  
  
“How long?” True whispers.  
  
“Since they knew or how long that stuff’s been on the market? Beats me,” he says, and shrugs. “Whole thing was only announced a bit ago, no one had a clue. I only know what the news tells me, kid. Best I’ve got. You want better answers, you try getting closer to the source.”  
  
Tanza had just  _been here_ , and instead of giving us information he’d given us a guitar. No information at all. Did people not trust us with knowing the truth?  
  
“Only thing that’s safe anymore is the healing at the Center,” he says, eyes shifting down one of the main roads. “They’re swarmed, you practically need an appointment to get your Pokémon healed. Your best bet is to hunker down low, just like the radio said, and not get hurt until the shipment of supplies comes in.”  
  
“Sendin’ ‘em by boat and plane,” the sharp-nosed woman says. “Bet you anything they’ll hit the big cities first and then spread ‘em out to the little places. If I were you, girl, I’d get in there and get a room before it’s too late.”  
  
True doesn’t respond right away, but Jackson nods and pulls her away from the crowd, one clawed hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “What are we going to do now?” he asks.  
  
There’s no sense getting supplies now, not when they’ve probably been pulled from the shelves. When was the last time we had gotten supplies, anyway? From Lavender Town?  
  
“That’s what was wrong with her,” True murmurs quietly.  
  
I feel Jackson freeze beside us and look up; there’s fear in Jackson’s eyes when he asks, “Wrong with who?”  
  
She doesn’t talk—there are too many people here. There’s no thought of grabbing guitar strings now, as Jackson and I guide True to a more secluded space. There aren’t many deserted alleys in Cerulean—the streets all blend into each other, and there are very few hiding places—but the riverbank is empty. Everyone must be in the city, as close to radios and televisions as possible.  
  
True sits down by the water and Jackson curls up around her, shielding her from the bright sun with a wing. Light leaks in from the dark blue membrane, but shade is shade. I settle in her lap as True pulls her backpack off, setting it gently to her side. The guitar on my back suddenly weighs a hundred pounds—I take it off and set it on the ground beside me and come into her lap.  
  
I don’t ask her to speak. She talks when she’s ready.  
  
“Remember when we were in Pewter City after the gym match?” True asks. When I nod, she continues, “And I used the potion on her, because she’d fought so hard… and it didn’t seem to work. We went back to the Center and we healed her up, and for the most part she was okay… she didn’t have any broken bones or anything. But the nurse, she said that she’d have to rest for a few days and not push herself very hard.”  
  
We’d spent three days in Pewter City playing tourist, and Kerri had hated every moment of it. “Did she know?”  
  
True shook her head. “I didn’t want… it was my job to keep her safe. And we had fun, right?”  
  
Kerri hadn’t, I remember that much. But back then it had just been her, True, Peter, and me. And then Kerri had gone with True to catch Clara. It seemed like so long ago, years instead of months and weeks—this was before we’d met Jackson, and Minka, and Britt and Wilkes and that Exeggcute.  
  
“But I keep thinking, if I had just made her stop battling—”  
  
“Hey,” I say. “You know it would’ve taken a lot more than some rest to make Kerri stop battling.” The only thing that had was a bullet to the back of the head, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to say this. “If she’d wanted to stop, would you have let her?”  
  
“Of course!” True yells.  
  
“Did she ask you to stop?”  
  
True pauses before shaking her head.  
  
“Would you let any of us stop battling if we asked you to?”  
  
It wouldn’t happen; Britt and Jackson lived for battles, and Clara and Wilkes and I were too loyal to True to leave her alone.  
  
“Yes,” True says softly. She doesn’t have to say it because she had offered me the chance to leave. I hadn’t taken it.  
  
“Then you’re all set,” I say, and smile. “We’ll be here with you whatever you want to do. Right, Jackson?”  
  
“I like battling,” he says. “But you helped me. I’ll help you.”  
  
True’s smile is watery, less confident, as she stands up and puts her backpack back on. “We need to get back to the house, so let’s walk back—”  
  
“We don’t have to walk!” Jackson says. Before I can register what he’s saying, he drops to all fours, wings held awkwardly low. “Clara taught me how to fly, and I’m getting better at it.”  
  
Wilkes’s words come back to me:  _It's Jackson's own fear of falling that keeps him from true flight._  I grab the guitar and pull it close to me. “I thought you weren’t… well…”  
  
“It’s not very far,” he says. “And if something happens there’s ground. I won’t go very high. But if we need to get going as fast as we can, and I can do it—”  
  
“Let him try,” True says, and walks toward Jackson. She fumbles around his wing joint and eventually pushes herself up, resting low on his back. The Charizard grunts, twisting his head and spearing the air with his twisted horns.  
  
My grip on the guitar tightens. “And you’re sure—?”  
  
“I’ll even carry that,” Jackson says, gesturing to the dark instrument in my paws.  
  
“I’ll carry it,” True says. It’s enough to get me on Jackson’s back. Jackson’s skin is warm and scaled, and from here there are no easy handholds. The guitar and I find a space between Jackson and True to settle into, and nearly get squished when Jackson suddenly takes off.  
  
It isn’t as easy as flying on Clara. We don’t crash and burn into the ground—or into the water, something I hadn’t thought of—but the landing is less than graceful. Jackson has to use both hands and feet to grip the ground, sending small shockwaves. The guitar thrums as strings nick against my flailing fingers; True rolls off of Jackson and lands on his outstretched wing, pinning him to the ground. There’s a lot of yelling and commotion and tangled-up-ness, and by the time we’re all standing the others have come to us.  
  
“We heard the news, Master—”  
  
“Did you hear—?”  
  
“Everything,” True says. “We heard everything in town.”  
  
“What’s the plan then?” Britt asks.  
  
True hesitates, nibbling her bottom lip. “If something happened and we weren’t near medicine… I couldn’t live with myself if any of you got hurt,” she whispers. “So… we’re leaving.”  
  
“ _Finally_ ,” Britt breathes. She doesn’t flinch when I glare at her, but raises her head proudly, as if she’s the reason we’re finally leaving the cottage. “The news said that shipments would come to the big cities. That’s Fuchsia, Celadon, Saffron—”  
  
“I can’t go to Saffron yet,” True says, and stares at her shuffling feet. “I just… I can’t.”  
  
Britt shrugs. “There’s a gym in both places. I say we head to Fuchsia, get ourselves a room.” The Blastoise pauses. “Maybe bring that Exeggcute out from the PC.”  
  
There is no sound, only four pairs of eyes looking up at Britt. I’m situated so that I can see Minka’s urn gleaming from the fluorescent lights overhead. “What do you mean,” I ask slowly. “That Hyde—you’re going to replace… you’re going to replace Minka so soon?”  
  
It feels like knives on my throat to say it, but there it is, out in the open. Britt gives me a long look before continuing. “It’s been weeks. If we are still a battling team, then we need to be at full strength. So this doesn’t happen again.”  
  
It doesn’t sound like Britt. Britt’s the one who’s all for kicking life in the ass no matter the odds. She wouldn’t—  
  
“She’s right.”  
  
Say anything that Wilkes would agree with.  
  
“Not only for strength,” the Haunter says, “but because we cannot allow the death of one of our members keep us from our goals. If it is your wish to continue on this badge quest, Master, then we will follow you… but if so, it would be most advantageous to go at it with full strength. We cannot allow ourselves to be rooted in the past forever.”  
  
The unreasonable things that Britt says seem perfectly logical when Wilkes says them. It’s bizarre, because I don’t care for either of them. If Britt’s upset about us listening to the Haunter over her, she only grumbles about it—and since she grumbles about so many things, we don’t notice it more than normal. We hadn’t unpacked much, which makes gathering our belongings easy. We throw out old healing items, because who knew if they were tainted? True cries but doesn’t reach out for me, just wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. It’s especially bad when she takes Minka’s urn, which had somehow been constructed for portability, and places it gently on the very top of her folded clothes and food provisions.  
  
“Where are we going to place your gift?” Wilkes asks, pointing to the case.  
  
It hurts to admit, but today had shown me exactly why I couldn't have the guitar on me. What if we were in an emergency, and it was a choice of safety or the guitar? Of getting True out of harms way or my own pride? The case is too large for me to carry without help, and there’s only so much room in True’s backpack to place the small guitar. But True finds a bit of rope buried deep in her backpack, and together we secure it to the top of the backpack, right underneath the sleeping bag. True makes sure that the clasps on Al’s guitar case are properly closed, and I watch as the gleaming instrument is packed away, safe.  
  
“Maybe… just leave some cash for him?” True asks. “As a… as a thank you?”  
  
“That would be generous,” Wilkes says.  
  
<<Perhaps too generous.>>  
  
I flinch. No one else seems to notice a voice in their heads. Part of me wonders if I’m just hallucinating, but then Wilkes raises his pointed head, his giant eyes narrowed. “Something’s here.”  
  
“What a time to tell us this house is haunted,” Britt mutters.  
  
<<You need to meet me outside.>>  
  
Michaela is one of the last people I want to see right now. I think she knows it too, because it usually feels like my head’s being clubbed with an ax when she talks to me. Now it’s only a probing, a gentle nudging.  
  
<<I’ve practiced to become more sensitive to others.>>  
  
Of course she has.  
  
Wilkes tilts his head, a silent question. I answer back with a shake of my head and turn for the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” I say, even as Wilkes begins to tell me no.  
  
The Kadabra stands a little ways away in the darkness, extending a long-fingered hand to me. I take one last look at the house before following her. Michaela doesn’t have to tell me her intentions. I already know them. My suspicions are only confirmed when we reach a tiny clearing, hooded with tall-reaching trees. There's only a small patch of light straight in the center. The closer I walk to that patch, the stronger that familiar scent becomes. Michaela vanishes into nothingness beside me.  
  
It's hard to see her in the dark at first, but when I see her I stare transfixed. Cassidy’s long tail is wrapped along her body, the fan at the end hiding part of her webbed collar. She lifts her head hesitantly, her eyes wary, her ears pulled back. Every muscle in her body screams  _anxious_. I think I can count on one paw the number of times I’ve seen Cassidy distraught, or even unhappy. This is a posture I don’t have a word for.  
  
“Hey,” she says, and meets my eye.  
  
I raise a paw in greeting, my mouth raw.  
  
The Cassidy I had known before had, apart from True, been my closest friend. We told each other everything, spent much of our free time together. I don’t think there’s a memory I have of Pallet Town that doesn’t involve either Cassidy or True. Sometimes the three of us were all together—not often, because even then there had been some unspoken agreement that True had been  _mine_  to protect, mine to spend time with. When we were, though, there had been laughter and grass stains. There had been sunlight.  
  
I don’t recognize the Cassidy in front of me now, not really. Not when she slowly uncurls herself to step out of the shadows and into the light, where I can see the twigs bending under her heavy gait. “I missed you at the ceremony,” she says quietly. “We all did.”  
  
Chris probably hadn’t given a rat’s ass and I doubt Gary had either.  
  
“Someone… someone told me you were in the city. I’m glad I was able to see you.”  
  
“Tanza came by a day or two ago,” I murmur. “To… drop something off.”  
  
I’m thinking of the guitar as I say this, but Cassidy’s eyes wander off to a point behind me. I don't sense the Kadabra, but that doesn't mean she isn't here somewhere, hiding.  
  
“That’s why I’m here,” Cassidy says. “I was hoping that maybe, you know, we could talk about… I don’t know. Just talk.”  
  
It’s a loaded request. “About anything?” I ask.  
  
I can’t ignore the light that sparks from her eyes as she nods. It illuminates the dark patch of the forest floor that we’re standing in. “Whatever you want to talk about. Anything.”  
  
If I close my eyes I can see Pallet Town’s rolling green hills and sunlit fields. “You remember that time when we took the kids on an adventure into the woods? Just because?”  
  
I’m not facing Cassidy when I talk, but I can hear her padding toward me. Her heavy weight settles a few feet away from me, keeping an awkward distance that my body itches to close. “Was that the time the kids wanted to eat pine cones all day?”  
  
That had been an adventure in itself, but it’s not the one I’m thinking of. “When we went to the river. It was that late spring afternoon, just before some of them went off on their Pokémon journeys.”  
  
It had been the first and only year we’d done it—two low-level Pokémon escorting defenseless children through a forest teeming with wild Pokémon probably hadn’t been the smartest plan. We’d lost track of time; by the time we had come back, dripping and laughing, there had been a host of parents demanding to know where their children had gone.  
  
“I remember,” Cassidy says. “Freesia fell into the water and everyone else decided to get themselves wet, instead of having her be the only one.”  
  
Cassidy had been the first to lead the charge.  
  
“And after all the kids went home,” I say, “you said that you wished that everything could be like this all the time. That nothing would change.”  
  
Something in the air changes. Cassidy’s quiet laughter fades away in the clearing, eaten up in the empty space. “That was years ago, Casey. True was just in her first few years at school—“  
  
“And I said yes, and we made a promise,” I hiss. “And everything was fine for a little while, and then—then we went on these journeys everything fell apart.”  
  
“You told me you wanted to go with True.” Her voice sounds louder, closer—and sure enough when I open my eyes, there she is right in front of me. Her honey eyes are guarded and her shoulders have rolled back. “Was that a lie?”  
  
“No,” I say immediately. “But it wasn’t… I wanted to protect her. And she  _asked_  for me, I couldn’t have just—just left her—“  
  
“What were you thinking she was going to do, just get all her badges and come home happy? Get a steady job back in Pallet and then you’d go back to the Professor’s? Journeys don’t work like that!”  
  
“I didn’t want her to come back alone, and she wasn’t going to!”  
  
Cassidy takes a long breath and several steps away from me before she responds. “Regardless of how it would have happened, or how it  _will_  happen, she’s going to change. If she can control some of your teammates—“  
  
“Which teammates?” I hiss.  
  
“Boston told me about his battle with your Wartortle.”  
  
“Who the fuck is Boston?”  
  
“He’s the Ninetales on my team,” she says simply, “and that’s not important. I was there when your Charmeleon had his—his episode—“  
  
“The episode,” I repeat. “You mean the bout of trauma after being on that damned boat, watching people get—get shot at, and trampled on, and  _killed_? You think that was just an episode?”  
  
“It was a traumatic experience that I’m sure still hurts him,” Cassidy says, “the way it hurts everyone on your team and especially you!”  
  
She hits the nail on the head like always. But I resist, I don’t allow her in. “It’s not the only one that hurts.”  
  
The words feel  _wrong_ , but they pour out of me; they’re liquid and I can’t pull them back. I watch them wash over Cassidy and see her rise from the wave, guarded and wary.  
  
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it,” I say. “Not just—because you wanted to see me—“  
  
“Of course I want to see you!” she yells. “I always want to see you! If someone had told me where you and True had been, I would have come down to see you—I would have tracked you down. I would’ve done whatever you wanted.”  
  
She thought enslaving herself would make me feel better? I look up. “Where is Gary, anyway?”  
  
Cassidy pauses. “He’s still in Saffron. Training for the gym battle against Sabrina and waiting for supplies.”  
  
He didn’t leave the city right after?  
  
“We already got the Soul Badge,” Cassidy says, as if I’d asked the question out loud. Maybe I had. “A few weeks ago now. That was before the news broke. But then we ran into Bill, I guess he’s friends with the Professor… he told us you were in Cerulean but he didn’t say where. We thought he meant the city—“  
  
“We?”  
  
“Michaela,” she says softly. “And we asked Chester to keep an eye out, just in case, but Michaela heard you with True and Jackson earlier today. I was waiting at Chester’s but she was sure you wouldn’t be coming back. I guess you weren’t.”  
  
Just waiting for me to either come in or be shepherded in like a Mareep. “You went to all this trouble?”  
  
And I watch every twitch of her face, every crease line of her eyes clenching tight. “I need to apologize.”  
  
If I were my old self I wouldn’t have made her say anything more. But the Cassidy I knew never,  _ever_  would have done something like this. She was a healer, not a fighter, and maybe some part of me had hoped that—if and when she had gone on her journey—she would come back alive and well and whole. The battling thing wasn’t her thing, she would say. She hadn’t realized how much she’d miss the simplicity of Pallet Town until she’d gone away, she'd say.  
  
We’d be together again.  
  
Now it feels like we’re on separate sides of a chasm, and I can’t reach her. But if I can’t reach her then she can’t reach me either. “Why.”  
  
“I… I don’t remember much of what happened.” Her words threaten to break at the edges and I have to strain to listen, to understand. “But one of the Alakazam… I think he was the one who found me. He knew, and he told me. Confusion does different things to different Pokémon, and I guess I just—I  _snapped_. Either I thought you were part of Team Rocket, and you were here to hurt me more than I’d already been hurt, or… or  _something_.”  
  
I can’t watch her cry. I see her tiny blue paw swipe over her face and listen to her tear-thick voice as she keeps speaking. “I feel  _horrible_. I’ve never… done that to anyone. But you have to know that I wouldn’t hurt anyone I didn’t have to,” she says. “I didn’t mean to kill her, but I did, and I will never, ever be able to make up for that. I wish I could, every single day, but I can’t. I can’t, and I’m so sorry. I’m  _so sorry._  And I—I don’t want that to ever happen to anyone again, because it’s awful, it’s  _horrible_ , and I promise—“  
  
“You promised a lot of things,” I say. “To never change. But you’ve changed.”  
  
She’s struck dumb, she doesn’t reply, she only looks up at me with rounded eyes.  
  
“I was okay with you evolving, and you spending your time with Gary—and honestly we’ve seen more of each other than most kids do. I don’t think I’ve seen any of the kids we started out with, and I don’t know if that’s because they’re behind us, or ahead of us, or if they’re dead or if they’re back in Pallet Town—”  
  
“Listen to yourself!” Cassidy yells. “If you’re angry at me then fine, I can take it, but—”  
  
“I look at you and I don’t see the Eevee anymore. I want to, I wish things could go back to the way they used to be, when we were all safe and people weren’t—people weren’t  _dying_. But now they’re dying and when I look at you…”  
  
“When you look at me,” Cassidy finishes weakly. “When you... Just at my body? What do you see? When you look at me, who do you see?”  
  
The words are stones. “A killer. A monster.”  
  
If I close my eyes I don’t have to see her stony expression; I don’t have to see her shifting away from me.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
If I close my eyes—  
  
“If I ever meant anything to you,” she sobs, “you have to look at me.”  
  
I look at her, ears drooped, body sagging, pale and vulnerable neck exposed. “I love battling,” she says. “I get to work with amazing Pokémon, and I get to see the region. I’m a part of something… something  _big_. I loved working in Pallet Town and I loved helping to raise those kids, but… this is something I’ve wanted to do for years, Casey. Ever since I hatched I wanted to be a battler, and fight in the Pokémon League. I want to face Lance and maybe even battle against the Champion, and I want to be there on that winning team. I want to make my life worth something.”  
  
There’s a guitar that used to belong to my dead brother with True right now and if I focus I think I can still pull his scent to memory. “Helping kids is worth something!” I yell.  
  
“There is more than one way to help them! I thought you would have learned that by now with True, but maybe—maybe I was wrong about you.” She hesitates. “I don’t want to be wrong.” She takes a shaky breath and lowers her head. “Please, tell me I’m wrong.”  
  
It would be so easy to say it. That this was all a big misunderstanding, that we'd both fucked up, that things could be patched up and we could be... friends, or something, I don't even know anymore. But it feels wrong to even think it. That's when I know that I have my answer.  
  
“You’re wrong about a lot of things,” I say quietly. “But this time… this time I think you’re right.”  
  
I leave her in that clearing without looking back. Michaela doesn't come to fetch me, doesn't even probe her way into my mind. Maybe she sees me electrocuting her—maybe she feels the clench of my stomach at the thought of it. I don’t know how long I run, just that the woods have branches that scrape and cut me.  
  
I have to look like a mess. That’s the only reason the others stare at me, open-mouthed and hesitant. The second I see them I stop, and I don’t look up until I see True’s shoes, and then smell True’s scent as she leans down toward me, her hair falling down on my shoulders. “Do you want to talk—“  
  
I shake my head.  
  
Clara’s clawed toes are pale against the dark brown soil. True’s curtain of hair pulls away as she stands up, still not leaving me. “Your guitar’s all packed. We’re ready. Do you—?”  
  
“Put me in my ball,” I say softly.  
  
It catches True off guard. The only reason she has my Poké Ball on her belt at all is to prove that she’s my legal trainer—I never, ever go into it. I’m always outside, available to True if and when she needs me.  
  
“When do you want me to let you out?” she asks softly, the ball gleaming in her hand.  
  
“Once we’re in the Center,” I say.  
  
True’s watery eyes are the last thing I see before everything goes white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to anyone who can guess what song Casey was singing in the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Sorry again for the slight delay guys, but I wanted to make sure this chapter was posted before I started binge-playing Alpha Sapphire tomorrow! I'm hoping to get back on the normal posting schedule and have Chapter 51 up right before Thanksgiving... but we'll see how things go. I swear the angst will end soon. Right now we're setting up delicious things for this arc, but other awesome meatiness will come soon. I'd say in about four or five chapters we'll even have ourselves a gym match! It's been so long I almost forgot what those were! Britt and Jackson sure don't, though, and we'll see them get some action against Fuchsia's gym. But until then, let's enjoy... tears, I guess.


	55. Chapter Fifty-One

Rumor goes that the first developers of the standard Poké Ball had intended the devices to act as "white spaces"—Pokémon remember being recalled into the balls, and they remember coming out, but they don't remember what happens in between. Years or seconds could pass inside one of those things and you'd never know the difference.  
  
It's one reason why I've been so hesitant about using them—it's better to see and remember change, rather than take events for granted.  
  
Here's another: balls don't work on humans. Our energy signatures are "too different," though it hasn't stopped some scientists from trying.   
  
And another: I haven't felt like a Pokémon for so long. What if it doesn't work on me like it does the others? What if I'm stuck here for the rest of my life or even after? What if—well. What if.  
  
There's no sense of solidity, no permanence. I'm locked inside my own head, away from my body. There is no such thing as "closing my eyes." Colors are sharper. Memories are sharper.  
  
I see Al's body burned to ashes. Cassidy's monster eyes. Cassidy's regular eyes. True's—  
  
And then, with a rush of energy, there are colors and shapes. Pokémon Center room, pamphlets for the Fuchsia Gym, True's yellow backpack on a wooden chair. I can feel my paws and nose again. I can feel my body sink into the blankets—and they smell too floral, like someone's rolled them in a meadow. Weak sunlight is streaming in through the open windows at a high angle. This isn't the same room we had stayed in when we were in Fuchsia before, but it's close enough that I almost expect to see Inza sitting in the bed.  
  
Her daughter's there instead, with my ball held tight in her trembling hand.   
  
"How long was I in there," I whimper.  
  
"Day and a half," she says softly.  
  
There are questions bubbling in my throat— _how is everyone, has she heard anything from_ —but push them back down. "And everyone else?" I ask, pulling at sheets.  
  
"They're down being healed. We had to fight a few wild Pokémon, but everyone's okay," True says. There's a bandage on her cheek, dark against her flushed skin. She sees me looking and shrugs. "Just a little scar. It should go away in a few days."  
  
She hadn't brought me out.  
  
"I put an order in with the nurses for the supplies… she said that when the shipment arrives, someone'll bring it up to our room." My eyes narrow. Just as I open my mouth to ask, True says, "Someone from Devon."  
  
The nurses will be stretched thin enough to meet demand. This should concern me more. It doesn't. "Good PR," I mutter.  
  
"Yeah," she says. The bed groans under True's body as she leans forward on the bed, our noses close to touching. "At least… yeah."  
  
I don't question her—for a few moments I don't do anything but look around the room. The television has been turned on to a cheesy movie (some biopic on a former Elite Four member) that plays silently to an inattentive room. How long had she watched it?  _Had_  she watched it? And what—  
  
"That was Gary's Kadabra, wasn't it?"  
  
Flashes of memory—Michaela's request, Cassidy's eyes, my words—  
  
I nod.  
  
"It wasn't… Cassidy is alright, isn't she? Because I-I know you two were close, and—and if you don't want to talk about it, I—"  
  
"I fucked up."  
  
I don't realize I've said it out loud until I feel the bitterness on my tongue, until True's hand is running down my back. The room blurs and my paws itch for something to grab, something to pluck—blanket cloth is too soft from sweet-smelling detergent. I need something more solid.  
  
"I keep seeing her eyes," I whimper. "Before she…"  
  
True doesn't say anything, but gently picks me up and cradles me against her chest. Her hand is a heavy and comfortable weight on the top of my head, down my back. It opens the dam. "And I don't know if I c'n do anythin' t'…t'fix it."  
  
"She knows you," True says. "You—she knows how grief works, she—"  
  
"I told her it was her fault that everything'd happened, that she'd changed and that was why—which was  _stupid_ ," I hiss, "I got—I got angry. I…"  
  
Words don't work anymore—any sounds I push out are jumbled, aren't words. I'm only just aware of True pushing herself up into a sitting position, of her picking me up and holding me in the crook of her arm.  
  
The tables shouldn't be turned; it should be me being solid, being strong, being present and not falling apart at the seams. True's heart is beating sure and steady, a slow baseline to match my breathing to.  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't be telling me this," True says quietly.  
  
Fear dries my tears, forces me back into coherence. "Is this too much? 'Cause I—"  
  
"No! No, you can—you can tell me anything you want. Always. But maybe…" True's breath is hot and sweet when she bows her head down to mine. "These are things you should… be telling her?"  
  
"I don't know if I'll ever see her," I murmur.  
  
"We will," she says. "Look, it wasn't the… smartest thing you've ever done. But, you know. You're not smart all the time."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Not that you aren't  _smart_ , but, um… you know what I mean. Everyone makes mistakes. And you can be kind of… emotionally constipated."  
  
"Thanks," I repeat, even as she laughs.  
  
"I'm getting this all wrong, but... I'm really sorry about what happened," she says. "Everything…"  
  
I know what she's going to say and twist up to face her, all-business. "This is not your fault," I say immediately, and wait until she meets my eyes to continue. "Okay? If it's anyone's fault it's… it's Team Rocket's. And they're done. They're done, and we can—"  
  
"My mother wanted a therapy Pokémon."  
  
"And once we—wait, what?"  
  
The sharp turn in conversation throws me for a loop. Even True's eyes are wide from the admission. Maybe it's the familiar surrounding or maybe both of us have wandered too far down memory lane. I watch her eyes flick up at the freckled ceiling as she falls back down onto the bed, her head hitting the pale pillows. I move from the cradle of her arm to her soft belly, meeting her eye. "How'd I never know about this?"  
  
She scoots up so her head is propped up and stares right at me. "I didn't tell anyone. Mom thought it'd be the best way to get me through, since she wasn't going to let me go on my journey. She thought getting me a therapy Pokémon to help... with the attacks, that that'd help me feel better. She probably thought it'd keep me around, too. But we looked and they were so  _expensive_ , because they've been specially trained and whatnot to deal with helping people... you know, like me. And it was either cash our savings and fork it up, and have Mom and I each get a job, or just keep going the way things were. Even after they took me off the medicine and we had a little more money around, we didn't get one."  
  
"I still don't—"  
  
"Those savings were for me to go to the trainer's school," True says, twisting locks of her hair around her finger. "And get my license, and pay for supplies when I was finally able to go. And maybe it would've been smarter for me to use that money, but after the dust kind of, you know, settled, I was okay, or at least  _more_  okay than I had been, and just... I started spending a lot of time at the lab, you know, after school. And you were there."  
  
But there's a difference between a Pokémon who would read psychology books, and therapy books, and a Pokémon who's been through specialized training. Even as I tell her this, she shakes her head.  
  
"I didn't need a therapy Pokémon, I needed  _you_. I needed," she starts to say, before sighing deeply. "I needed a team. My mom was supportive but she... you've met her, you know. It's different. Ca—other Pokémon were there. Other people were there. But the most important thing is that you were there. And you're still here. You and Jackson and Clara, and Wilkes, and even Britt and... and Peter and Kerri and Minka. They were there. That's kept me... that's kept me okay."  
  
I don't talk about Al and my past because I don't tell  _anyone_.   
  
"...I should follow my own advice," she laughs. "I should be telling everyone this."  
  
So should I.  
  
"When are the others going to be done?" I ask.  
  
True glances at the flashing analog clock on the bedside table. "I think she said fifteen minutes. Why?"  
  
My eyes drift to True's backpack on the chair, to the oblong case secured tightly to the bottom.  
  
"Is there a music shop on that map?"  
  


* * *

  
"I've never seen the coast before!"  
  
It's been at least a month since we were last on the seaside cliff, and yet nothing has changed: the white-capped sea is churning against the pale shores, the sun bright and hot on our faces. I think we've even picked the same picnic bench. There is no basket full of food, no Inza politely listening to her daughter's stories. No bickering teammates (yet).  
  
There's no Minka, either. Hyde's there in her place instead, already informed of... well, everything. Six pairs of eyes flicker from interest to curiosity and then settle into something that I  _think_  is supposed to be calm, if it weren't for an unsettling gleam. "Everything's kinda different. And you didn't even need me there in that building!"  
  
If it hadn't been for Chris telling us to bring  _all_  of our team members, six-battler regulation be damned, he wouldn't have come out from the box.  
  
"You're here now," Jackson says, his eyes on me.  
  
Finding the music shop had taken longer than grabbing the team from the nurses, purchasing and setting the strings, and then hiking up here. The wood of Al's guitar catches the reddening sky and turns the strings to gold; I'm more focused on the rich sound that vibrates between our circle of seven.  
  
"I didn't know you could actually play that thing," Britt says, her eyes narrowed.  
  
The chord ripples clean in the air. I settle the instrument on my lap, throw the newly tightened strap over my shoulders. "There's lots of things you don't know about me."  
  
True straightens from her place on the picnic bench, pulling a few strands of hair out of her face. "We've spent a lot of time away from battling... but we haven't really spent much time together. That's my fault." Her eyes are already there to meet mine when I look up to protest. She shakes her head. "And when we were battling, we weren't doing it together. Like, we've been traveling around together, but we haven't been... does that make sense?"  
  
"It's like an Exeggcute head away from its group!" Hyde chirps. "That's happened to me before. It's  _very_  disorienting, and—"  
  
"It makes sense," Britt says. "I just don't get the guitar. We starting a musical group?"  
  
True's eyes are still on mine when she lifts her brow, a silent question. I nod. "For tonight... kind of, yeah."  
  
"You're shitting me."  
  
"No, just... listen. I read about this while I was at the lab. They do this sometimes with groups that don't know how to get along with each other, they make... they do their own things, but it all comes together as one thing." This is why I'm not a therapy Pokémon: I don't speak well enough for it. "Like, I'm going to play the guitar. Just simple stuff. True'll keep a beat. And then the rest of you'll come in with things 'til we're all doing something."  
  
Jackson and Clara meet quizzical eyes. Britt hasn't retreated into her shell yet, but she isn't looking at me or True. Wilkes doesn't seem to have any reaction at all, which is fairly normal. Hyde's the only one who looks genuinely excited about this—each mouth on every head is wide open already. "I used to sing  _all the time_ —in the Safari Zone!"  
  
"Anyone like it?" Britt grunts.  
  
"Well—no. But...!"  
  
"We'll figure it out," True hastily interjects. "Maybe it'll be better if we just... start? You and me, to show everyone how it works?"  
  
True's eyes were as heavy a weight as the guitar on my lap; everyone else's eyes add that much more pressure. But I take True's question as my cue and breathe, slow and steady. I pluck an easy melody on the guitar: an old song from simpler days. True's eyes brighten in recognition, and after a few strums she starts to sing.  
  
Years ago I used to play the guitar all the time—mostly with Cassidy, when we had nothing else to do and no energy to run off into the woods. But once in a while I'd bring it out when True was around, and we'd sit and fumble over chords and melodies. She taught me songs from the radio and I played her old Sinnoh folk songs, until we had a songbook from which we could pluck anything. It's been a while since we've done this, but after a few fumbled words and misalignments, we fall back into our old rhythm.  
  
She doesn't have Cassidy's voice—True's is reedier, humbler, shakier. But she holds her notes well enough for her hunched posture, her hands clenched over her knees. There's an unsteady smile on her face when she looks at me, and I say nothing but keep playing, keep playing—  
  
And wordless, brassy, pitch-perfect harmony joins our duo. True fumbles in her words but I keep going, even as my eye goes around the circle. Clara's head bobs slightly, her eyes closed; Jackson looks to the sky, his claws drumming a quiet beat on his belly; Hyde, with each head vibrating with excitement, is practically a tambourine. My eyes find Wilkes hovering just above the Exeggcute, and he meets mine for a moment before turning slightly to Britt.  
  
Whose mouth is closed, yes, but she's staring right at the guitar, her brow heavy over her eyes. And I know without having to ask who's humming.  
  
It's Britt's brassy alto that influences the turn in tune: runs from old Sinnoh folk songs flirt into the bouncing melody, when my brother would howl joyously at the top of his lungs. Britt tilts her head and adjusts, her tune bold and wordless. I hear True's voice fall back, and out of the corner of my eye I see her staring at the Blastoise. Britt doesn't seem to notice, or maybe she just doesn't care.  
  
A low rumbling note. Wilkes, I would bet an orchard.  
  
A chorus of staccato notes, some hitting sour and some that vibrate with perfection. Hyde.  
  
Long claws scratch the ground, pulling up grass and a back beat. Feathers rustle. Clara.  
  
Britt turns to Jackson, who is still only lightly drumming his claws on his belly. "If I have to do this," she growls in sing-song, "so do youuuu."  
  
"But I don't know what you're doing," Jackson says, not sing-songy at all.  
  
"No, hang on—quit playing that knock-off shit," Britt growls.  
  
Knock-off my ass. My fingers still more from surprise than obedience.  
  
Britt stands up to her full height, a head taller than a still-growing Jackson. "Now look, this is nuts. This whole thing is  _fucking nuts._  But the... the rat's right," she grumbles. "I don't know how we're supposed to be a better  _battling team_  by singing 'Arceus is My Friend' but fuck it, at this point I'm willing to give this a shot."  
  
"But you—"  
  
"Jackson, hang on," True says. "If you just don't want to sing, we can't really make you. This is just a chance to let all of us... you know, be more comfortable around each other. But if singing with us doesn't make you feel that way..."  
  
"I don't know the song," Jackson mutters.  
  
"None of us do," Wilkes says.  
  
"But it sounded nice anyway!" Hyde chirps. "And I didn't even do that much! So you have to try—'cause there isn't a Scyther around tellin' you to stop—"  
  
" _That's_  what you were doing when we caught you?" I ask.  
  
"That isn't the point. We just gotta do what makes us special, 'cause in the end—that's how we get better! Like how Exeggcute come together—to be one biiiiig Exeggutor—all the heads become—well, the heads are still there, but they each have—one body.—And they work together and get stronger until no Scyther'll be strong enough—to kill you."  
  
Silence.  
  
"That made more sense in my head," one head mutters.  
  
It's the strangest thing I've heard in weeks. Beside me though, True is nodding her head. "It makes perfect sense," True murmurs. "I don't think I could repeat it, but... We just have to come together."  
  
"Through the power of— _evolution_ ," Hyde says.  
  
"Perhaps for you," Wilkes says. "In any case, are we going to continue with our musical bonding, or... what?"  
  
Britt's smirk stretches across her face. "You saying 'musical bonding' is the stupidest thing I've heard since we suggested 'musical bonding.'"  
  
"It worked though!" Hyde says. "We were all clammy—or shut up—we're talking now!—And that didn't happen earlier."  
  
"Suck up," Britt snickers.  
  
But I've noticed the energy change too. So has True, whose smile has grown warmer since we began. Her hand settles across my shoulders as she lifts herself up. "So then, maybe instead of singing... well, the next gym is here. It's supposed to be poison, so—"  
  
"I want to fight," Jackson says.  
  
"Me too," Britt says.  
  
Clara nods her head, opening her wings slightly.  
  
"Hyde's a psychic-type," Wilkes says. "Perhaps it would be advantageous to—"  
  
"It would, if he were stronger," Britt says. "And evolved."  
  
"And not a grass-type," True says. "I picked up a few pamphlets, and it looks like he uses a lot of bug-types as well. And I don't really want to risk Hyde getting hurt while we're waiting for medicine."  
  
"So the three of us take the gym. We win," she says, like it's a sure thing. "Then what?"  
  
True closes her eyes. "Saffron."  
  
My eyes narrow as I look back up to her. She doesn't meet my eyes.  
  
"Psychic-types," Wilkes says. "I will be able to assist you there."  
  
"After that is Cinnabar, down in the southern sea," True says, her fingers drumming against her knuckles. "Fire-types. That'll be—"  
  
"My chance to take out the trash," Britt says, proudly lifting her head.  
  
"This is all assuming there's going to be a gym leader in Viridian to end the circuit," I say. "Since Giovanni... you know."  
  
Hyde doesn't, but the rest of us nod our heads.  
  
"The League hasn't said anything about canceling this year's tournament," Britt says. "That's got to mean  _something_."  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," True murmurs. "But other than that... if there's anything else anyone wants to say, now would probably be the best time to say it."  
  
For five uneasy seconds, there is only silence. Eyes shift to each other, as if daring the others to speak up. Finally Jackson stands to his full height, his leathery wings fully opened. "Can we try the... the thing again?"  
  
Clara pats him on the back with a broad wing and eyes me with bright blue eyes. Britt nods, satisfied, and gestures for him to make a move.  
  
Jackson opens his mouth—and screechy notes pierce the air.  
  
Clara shrugs and joins him with a horrific screech of her own.  
  
Our laughter is the loudest sound on the cliff, brighter than any note.  
  


* * *

  
The shipment from Devon is delivered two days later, with a smile and fervent apologies for the delay. "We met some trouble on the sea coming in," the portly man says, adjusting packages on his gurney. "There'll be more coming in, but we aren't sure when. Use those conservatively, alright lass?"  
  
"I will," True says. "Thank you."  
  
True sets the wrapped parcel onto the small table. Jackson's wing muscles tighten under my paws as he lifts his head. "What's 'conservatively' mean?"  
  
"Not use them all at once," I say, and climb on top of Jackson's head. "What'd they give us?"  
  
It takes a second for True to undo the box and pull out the bubble-wrap padding. The Hoenn bottles are sleeker than the ones used in Kanto, with brighter labels and bolder fonts. I take stock as True pulls out each bag—ten Hyper Potions and ten Full Heals, two jars of medicinal powders, and—  
  
"Two packages of dried oran berries," True laughs. "Hyde will be happy."  
  
"I want to try!" Jackson whines, leaning to sniff the closest zipped bag.  
  
"We'll save them for all of us," True says, scratching the bottom of Jackson's chin with one hand. The other comes to scratch behind my ear; I lean into the touch with a contented sigh and nuzzle the back of her hand when she finally pulls away.  
  
True's smile doesn't waver when she picks up the phone, when she dials the number. An automatic machine answers her. She presses a button.  
  
It's hard for Jackson to meet my eye when I'm right on his head, but he tries, blowing smoke from his nostrils. "You really think everything will be alright now?"  
  
"Yes. True Fargone. Yes. I've received my shipment." True meets Jackson's eyes with a determined smile, meets mine with a hard-set determination and confidence I haven't seen in weeks.  
  
"I think so," I say, and match True's smile.  
  
"Yes," True says. "Schedule me for a battle with Gym Leader Koga this Sunday."


	56. Chapter Fifty-Two

"Sign these forms."  
  
It's a small stack, not unlike those I'd seen Oak ignoring on his desk. True stands right at the table, shakily scrawling her signature next to tiny red x's.  
  
 _I hereby agree to allow myself and my team to be recorded and televised.  
  
To limit destruction to the gym interior to the best of my ability.  
  
To claim all responsibility for injury or death of my Pokémon._  
  
Sign. Sign. Sign.  
  
The bearded man behind the desk glances over the forms, nods, then hands back True's trainer license. "Everything seems to be in order. Please have a seat, Miss Fargone. You'll be called with two other trainers. Good luck."  
  
I consider it lucky that we had gotten in at all. It's only a five minute walk from the Pokémon Center to the Fuchsia Gym, but with the delivery of new supplies from Hoenn had come trainers anxious to continue their badge quest. We'd had to wait an hour to get to the front desk and sign in from the front door. It takes ten minutes for a chair to clear up so that we can sit down; it takes forty for True to stop looking anxiously from person to person.  
  
"I didn't realize there'd be so many people here on a Sunday," she whispers, curling deeply into the chair.  
  
The older woman at True's right leans in. "Well what did you expect, sweetheart? The gym just reopened a few days ago. People are anxious. But don't worry," she says, adjusting the gold spectacles on her large nose. "Time will go faster than you think."  
  
True grunts a reply. Her hands quiver in her lap for a bit before they finally come to rest on the wide arms of the chair. She grips it tightly so that the knuckles turn white.   
  
"Talk to me," I say.  
  
"It's been a while since we've done this," she whispers back. "We trained, but—"  
  
"But nothing. We're going to be fine."  
  
It's a mantra, a lifeline to hold onto. I keep track of the clock as True brushes a hand against my back, teasing the back of my neck with a finger. Fifteen minutes pass until—  
  
"Hiro Fax, Carlotta St Clair, True Fargone."  
  
The older woman trills a goodbye as we walk to the door behind the front desk. Bodies shift with the announcement. My eye is drawn to a willowy teen and his Hypno, and then to a dark-haired woman with her Pidgeot. Their trainers are looking around the room as if to gauge their human competition—the Pokémon at their sides find me almost immediately, looking up with interest. My ears shoot up of their own accord. I force back the electricity building in my cheeks.  
  
"Do not stare, Heron." I can't place the accent. The woman tosses back her hair "Manners."  
  
Light catches in the Pidgeot's magnificent crest when he bows, wings extended and all. "Apologies, Carlotta."  
  
"Seems too polite to be a battler," the other trainer calls, wearing a lopsided grin. "Sure you're looking for the right place?"  
  
"Heron and I are right where we belong," Carlotta sneers.  
  
True's fingers slip through her hair, tangling locks into knots.  
  
"And you?" the other boy asks. "You look like you're about to pass out."  
  
My eyes narrow. True's voice only hitches once when she replies, "I'll be fine."  
  
We're led into a tiny room. Three large steel doors face the far wall, shining in the artificial light. A slender woman leans against the center door, her dark red lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. She's a piece of darkness in the otherwise bright room. "My name's Janine and I'll be going over the rules of this gym. Carlotta?"  
  
Carlotta's hand rests against Heron's cheek. "Present, miss."  
  
"Hiro?"  
  
"Here," says the boy.  
  
Janine's eyes are hard when she finds True's. "That makes you True."  
  
"Mhm," True says, voice wavering.  
  
If the unassertive answer bothers Janine, she doesn't show it. "Fine. Inside this maze are poison-type Pokémon. Each Pokémon has a ribbon attached to it—red, blue, or yellow. Before you can battle my father you have to present him with one of each colored ribbon. The first to do so will be able to challenge him. Then the next, and the next." Janine's smile grows brighter. "He's harder the longer you wait, so I suggest finding them fast.  
  
"The Pokémon you have out now will be considered one of your three Pokémon allowed inside the maze. Prepare your teams."  
  
Flashes of light ignite beside Carlotta: a stocky Nidoqueen and a twitching Ponyta. Beside Hiro and his Hypno stand a scraggly Gloom and a fierce Scyther. True looks at me, and when I nod, Clara and Jackson emerge beside us.  
  
"Take your doors," Janine says, and steps away from the side of the wall.  
  
We take the middle door, with Carlotta to our left and Hiro to our right. The door is so immaculately polished that I can see Clara's and Jackson's eyes in the gleaming metal. Both look determined and ready. True's eye is twitching slightly but there's a curl to her lip, a fierceness, that frightens and relaxes me. I can even see some steel in my eyes.  
  
"Try not to do anything stupid, like inhale poison," Janine says. "Don't hit the Pokémon without ribbons. And good luck!"  
  
With one shove, all three doors open.  
  
Now I understand why the building had seemed so small. Tall green hedges climb up to an open, cloudless sky that bathes the outdoor maze in golden light. I can't smell the sea from here, only flowers and planty things that start my eyes watering again.  
  
In just the few short seconds we have, Hiro and Carlotta have disappeared with their teams.  
  
If I hadn't been on her shoulder, I never would have heard True's quiet murmurs. "Just what we trained for. We're going to be okay."  
  
We move as one into the pathway. They're too tall for any of us to peer over, and there are too many thorns on top for me to make use of my lighter body.  
  
"What's our plan then?" I ask, scrambling onto the top of True's head.  
  
"Find the Pokémon, I guess," True says, and takes the first left.  
  
There's enough room for True to easily move around, but Clara and Jackson have to keep their wings tight to their chests. We move in single file, Clara then True then Jackson. Clara has her neck extended as much as it will go, trying to peer over the tops of the hedges. I scramble onto her head, careful not to mess up her crest feathers.  
  
The Beedrill appears suddenly, without warning—I see my eyes reflected in its dark red ones, and let loose a shot of electricity without warning. Something metallic gleams around its neck as it dodges—I see the wink of a camera before the Beedrill swoops into another part of the maze.  
  
"It didn't have a ribbon," True says, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"You think we'd have to pay for broken cameras?" I mutter, just loud enough for the four of us to hear.  
  
Jackson spits a tiny ember from his mouth; I watch it dissipate on the dirt ground. "Does it matter?"  
  
True shakes her head. "It does, but... never mind. Let's try going this way."  
  
We don't keep track of the time—time is an illusion in the maze. Every now and then we'll see a dark shape fly overhead—a Beedrill, a Zubat—but we see no ribbons. Blue, red, yellow.  
  
Just as we approach another fork, Jackson stops behind us, peering down a small path. "I smell something."  
  
I don't, but my nose has never been the best. There's a shaking, though, the scurry of little feet against twigs or rocks. I take one look at True before jumping out of her grip, and land in the dirt with a thud. "Stay here," I whisper, and creep through the opening.  
  
Bristled leaves brush over my back; thorns catch the tips of my ears. I keep pressing forward, trying to move as stealthily as possible. The closer I get the stronger the smell becomes: bright, almost citrusy, it lures me in, through tiny winding ways and under bushes.  
  
I find my target in a tiny clearing. The Oddish has a red ribbon tied around its dark blue body, and is staring right at me.  
  
"No chance of you just... giving me that, huh?" I ask.  
  
The tiny head shakes. "Not if I wanna keep my job."  
  
The leaves are brown on the edges and there's a sadness to its eyes that makes me think immediately of Minka. My cheeks fill with electricity. "Then let me make this easy," I say, and release.  
  
The Thunder Wave hits its mark, and the Oddish falls with a groan. Whoever tied this knot didn't tie it well, because it only takes one gentle pull for it to fall to the plant Pokémon's feet. One foot lands on the square of my jaw, but I'm into the tiny path before I start to feel the sting.  
  
Clara's shrieking drives me faster. The ribbon tastes sour in my mouth but I ignore it and run, tugging away from brambles and leaving bits of hair behind. I come out of the small tunnel just as Clara beats an Ekans back with her beak, before Jackson rips the yellow ribbon off its neck and throws it far over the hedges into another part of the maze. There's a nasty bruise forming on the Charizard's tail, but if he knows it's there it doesn't bother him. Instead he turns to me, suspicious and wary, before seeing the red ribbon in my mouth. "You got it!"  
  
I spit it out and hand it to True for safekeeping. "Somehow, yeah. What happened here?"  
  
"Sneak attack," True says, her arms crossed over her chest. "But we're okay."  
  
I climb up True's leg and she holds me tight. Jackson helps her tie on the ribbons to her left wrist, in plain view for everyone to see.  
  
I should have made a note for where the sun had been when we started. It's lower in the sky now, not by much, but enough. The heat makes the hedges shimmer in the light, take on new shapes. I'm only dimly aware of us going down paths, hitting dead ends, backing up and repeating the process over and over again. It becomes tedious. I focus instead on True's steadily beating heart, on the way the hedges seem to be opening up enough for Clara to extend her wings.  
  
"Maybe we should focus more on finding Koga," True says. "We have two of the ribbons. Maybe we'll get lucky and find the other—"  
  
A sharp screech interrupts her. True doesn't have time to react or even to move away before Jackson jumps in front of her, firing a white-hot Flamethrower. Bits of hedge catch fire, but the green blur pulls up and evades it. Light from the fire catches on the curved blades as the Scyther approaches, slicing up across Jackson's chest. Blood flies, a dark ruby red, splattering against the hedges. True's surprised scream is drowned out by Jackson's furious roar as he fires another column of flame at the sudden attacker.  
  
No cracks in the exoskeleton. Just a bit of charring. The Scyther lifts her head up and spits a distorted threat. I shouldn't feel so happy that she's survived.  
  
In the time it takes for Clara to pin the insect Pokémon down with her feet, bending low and hissing, True has a washcloth in her bag and is dabbing it on Jackson's wound. He hisses and groans but keeps his head up, warily looking around us for any other surprise attackers.  
  
The Scyther suddenly disappears in a flash of red, and all four eyes look up to see a young man come around the edge of the path. There's blood on the side of his face and his glasses are askew. He sways when he stands, revealing the blue ribbon tied methodically around his ankle. "What the hell did you do to her?"  
  
"She tried to kill us!" I growl.  
  
"She was  _trying_  to take your ribbons," Hiro seethes. "She wouldn't kill you, Jae's smarter than that."  
  
His lips keep moving, but the only thing I can hear is Jackson's furious snarling. He keeps talking even as a dark shape zooms toward us, as bright blue powder catches the light.  
  
"You don't deserve to..." And mid-word, the boy collapses on the ground.  
  
There can't be another surprise attacker, not so soon. I watch the Venomoth as it stares at us, before fluttering down to the fallen Hiro. "Should be ashamed," the purple insect chitters. Nimble legs remove the knotted blue ribbon from Hiro's ankle. "No foul play in this gym. Not by anyone."  
  
Says the Pokémon from a gym known for their status afflictions, their "foul play." But that isn't as important as True's shuddering breath, as her quaking limbs, as Jackson's head drooping down to his hastily-bandaged chest. True can't get a word out, and she's grasping at her throat. I take the lead and look up at Jackson. "Are you okay to go back into your ball?" I ask.  
  
"Is she going to be okay?" he asks.  
  
There is no "okay" with True. "I'll take care of her," I say instead. When he nods, my tail slaps against his Poke Ball, recalling him.  
  
The Venomoth hands me the ribbon, hard rage in its large eyes. "Take this as our apology," it says, before fluttering off again.  
  
Clara's already wrapped her wings around True, her head resting on the small of True's back. I brush up against her ankle, holding the ribbon tightly in my paws. True shifts in Clara's hold to look down on me, shivering and red-cheeked. "He just—"  
  
"He's gone now," I say gently. "The boy—"  
  
"Jackson just—"  
  
Clara grunts, lightly teasing the ends of True's hair in her beak. True looks up at her, eyes wide and head tilted. They stare at each other for a moment before True sighs. Clara releases her to stand just at her shoulder, suspiciously eyeing around corners for any other potential attackers. I jump up into True's arms, stained with blood—there's a large patch of it just over her breast, bright red against the pale green. "He's going to be fine. You bandaged him up, and we'll take him to the Center as soon as we're done. He's fine."  
  
Her breath is stabilizing, if still shallow. "He'll be okay?"  
  
"He's gonna be just fine," I say, patting her cheek with a bloody paw. I don't even flinch at the Sinnoh drawl to my words—it's okay to be nervous when we've just been attacked, as long as I don't fall apart. "We're all gonna be just fine."  
  
I'm very aware of the Butterfree that hovers above us. Clara adjusts herself to hide True away from the camera's prying eye, hissing up at the large insect. I spark a warning.  
  
True struggles out of Clara's hold, threading her fingers through her hair. "Okay."  
  
"Okay?" I ask.  
  
She takes the blue ribbon from my paws and threads it with the others.  
  
We only have to take a few more turns to reach the center of the maze. The Nidoking at the entrance is just shorter than the tall hedges, but stockily built with a heavy jaw. He eyes us warily when True holds out her wrist, where all three bloodstained ribbons have been hastily tied. "We have our ribbons."  
  
The Nidoking extends one sharply-clawed hand. Clara growls, edging to bridge the gap. The Nidoking eyes her with a settled patience that strikes oddly against his intimidating stature. "We have to take these back. Only so many shirts we can rip up," he explains, expertly untying the knots. "Koga's waiting for you."  
  
After the compactness of the maze, the wide open space of the arena seems alienating. We stick to the path provided, a passage well-trodden by other competitors that's lined with wild mushrooms and herbs. Dark purple flowers bloom where the clearing meets the maze, a pop of color. Save for the path and the battlefield itself, the grass grows untrimmed, brushing against the tops of True's knees. It might be tall enough to completely engulf a small child.  
  
The battlefield itself is marked in bright white flowers. Just past that stands a pale man in black. The only bit of color on his body comes from the bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. He watches us with his arms tucked behind him, his sharp Fearow-beak nose held high, his dark eyes narrowed. He doesn't say anything until True steps into the ring. "I was told you had an altercation in my maze."  
  
True's eyes aren't on Koga—she's focused on the Butterfree and Beedrill that settle on the tops of the maze hedges, keeping still to capture the battle on film. I snuggle closer to her chest and look up at her, trying to divert her attention. "Don't focus on them. Focus on him. Okay?"  
  
Her head slowly comes back down to the battlefield. Her voice shakes when she replies, "You should put another warning on the forms." She pauses. "Um. Not that I'm trying to tell you what to do. Sir."  
  
He has a hard mouth, even when he smiles. "I shouldn't have to remind people to use common sense and courtesy. But perhaps I will. For now, though," he says, plucking a Poke Ball from his belt, "we battle. Two on two."  
  
Are we the first ones here? There are places on the field where the trimmed grass looks more ruffled than others, where flowers have been battered. My eyes are drawn to the closest Butterfree, to the gleaming camera wrapped around its neck, before falling back down again. If True shouldn't look into the camera, Arceus knows I shouldn't either.  
  
The flash of light from the other side of the field is easier to concentrate on. The small Venonat jumps into action, its dark purple body vibrating with excitement. The tiny insect chirps and trills as it dances on its huge feet, its thin antennae twitching.  
  
Bug-type Pokémon evolve and mature so quickly compared to other Pokémon that it's hard to tell just how old this Venonat is, but something makes me wonder if it's very young, perhaps younger than other gym battlers. Clara is already starting to move toward the line, her body tensed and poised for action. I can't help think of how Clara is five times that Venonat's size, that I've seen her spear Goldeen out of the river for dinner—and before I can think anymore, I'm out of True's arms and on the battlefield.   
  
I swear I can hear True's body stiffen behind me. "What're you...?"  
  
If I say what I'm thinking— _Clara'll probably kill that thing_ —I'll get my ass handed to me. So I turn my head to her and sigh. "Just... lemme try this. 'Kay?"   
  
There's a long moment where True and I stare at each other. Finally, with clenched, shaking hands, she nods.  
  
"Wait, Larkspur," Koga says, and the Venonat comes to attention. "Allow the challenger the first move."  
  
First strike means I can go for the startle. Breathe in. Breathe out. I had told True that everything would be fine, and it will.  
  
True leans forward, shifting her stance. "Alright. Thunder Wave."  
  
Fear keeps me light on my feet, but it fucks with my aim. The first two Thunder Waves miss the dancing Venonat by inches—the third just grazes the top of its head. But the blast is enough to send the dark purple insect off its balance, and I watch it fall to the ground with a surprised yelp. I keep my distance but keep my ears pricked, my body tense, as the tiny thing picks itself back up from the ground.  
  
I don't hear Koga's command but I see the glob of dark poison that shoots out of the Venonat's mouth, and I hear True's cry for "Quick Attack" just as I dash away from potential impact. I slam into the insect head-first, have just enough time to process the long dark hairs itching my nose before the both of us tumble to the ground.  
  
"Tricksy," Larkspur slurs. "But tricksy enough?"  
  
I can't tear myself away before the Venonat's eyes begin to glow and the world begins to melt.  
  
Sound distorts, like I'm back underwater in Cerulean. Colors blur together, greens into blues into reds. I don't feel the ground underneath me until something slams into me; I roll in the dirt and taste blood, feel a sharp stinging in my left eye.  
  
Larkspur isn't there when I open my eyes. Cassidy's there instead, her body curled into an attack stance, water dripping out of her mouth. That hard monster look is in her eyes again when she crashes into me from the side. I tumble again.  
  
Somewhere far, far away, I can hear True's voice. Not her words. I don't understand her words. They bleed together into Minka screaming " _This isn't you!_ " and Kerri's insistent " _Start charging!_ "  
  
Cassidy is there when I close my eyes—when I open them it's Al smiling serenely as his body ignites into flames. " _You have to let me go._ "  
  
Into Tanza, his eyes haunting and sad and steeled. " _If you had to, would you?_ "  
  
Into the roaring Arcanine that charges down the field, flames igniting in its pale yellow mane—  
  
Electricity rips out of me with an insistence, with a need. I close my eyes and discharge, and discharge, until sound snaps back into familiarity, when I hear True's pleas to stop. I am made aware of burned grass, of my opponent twitching in a collapsed heap feet away. A beam of red light brings the Venonat back to its safe place; I don't bother looking up at Koga. I'm too busy trying to regulate my breathing.  
  
It's over. I'm done.  
  
" _Casey!_ "  
  
I'm not unconscious. I can breathe. I do breathe. The short grass tickles my feet as I stumble back over to True. She wraps me tightly in her arms, burying her nose against my shoulder. I feel her warm breath on my cheek, feel her strong and shaking hands at my back, and only then do I realize that the nightmare is over, that I'm back in reality.  
  
"I did it," I hear myself murmur.  
  
She didn't fight on the field, but her smile is triumphant, warrior-worthy. "You did."  
  
"Will you be sending in your next Pokémon?" Koga asks, breaking us out of our moment. Neither of us had paid attention to him releasing his second Pokémon, a pale Venomoth that leers at us from its perch on Koga's shoulder, but it holds my gaze with a stoic stare, familiar only because of the man underneath it.  
  
It only takes True saying her name for Clara to shoot into the sky, cawing triumphantly. Clouds shadow the sun, leeching away color. In the time it takes for my eyes to adjust, Koga's Venomoth has gained altitude, wings shimmering with a dusky purple powder. One of the Butterfree on the hedges shoots straight up to catch the action; part of me wishes I was going up, too.  
  
Is True's voice so much louder because I'm getting over the confusion, or is it because she's feeling more confident? "Go in for the Drill Peck!"  
  
"Psychic, Aconite."  
  
I've seen Psychics powerful enough to stop rampaging Rhydon in their tracks, to lift Snorlax into the air. The attack slows Clara's sharp descent but it doesn't stop it—Clara crashes into the pale insect beak-first before she's pushed out of range. The farther away she flies the more control Clara gains; she attacks unprompted, striking her talons against the edges of Aconite's wings.  
  
"Toxic."  
  
True's breath catches.  
  
The blast of poison misses Clara by hairs. It gives her an opening to dive straight into the Venomoth—the attack connects with twin shrieks. Two midair blurs become one as they shoot down to the ground, Aconite slashing with sharp legs and Clara beating back with her talons, I'm holding my breath, True is shaking—  
  
The two of them fall to the ground in one writhing heap, screeching and beating their wings. From here I can see the violet Psychic, a glow that washes over Clara with a gusto. Clara shrieks and shudders, but stabs forward with her beak. The Venomoth's sharp cry of pain pulls me deeper into True's embrace. I have to turn away.  
  
Bodies shift on the ground. Clara's battle cries lose some of their gusto with paralysis. I hear a solid something beat against another solid something. True's fist catches against mine. Her heart thuds unevenly. "She has to be okay, she has to," she says, over and over.  
  
Finally there is no more movement. Finally I hear Koga's voice. "Enough."  
  
I look up. Koga's face betrays nothing as he recalls his Venomoth, as he walks across the battlefield. "Two different approaches met the same fate," he says, as he stands in front of True. "Very well. It is my honor to present you, Trainer…"  
  
When she doesn't immediately answer, I say, "True."  
  
"True," he repeats. "It is my honor to present you with the Soul Badge." The tiny heart-shaped badge sits neatly in his palm, ready and waiting to be claimed. True takes it with shaking fingers and shallow breaths. I press up against her chest.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she says shyly.  
  
From over her shoulder I see the other woman—Frettata? No, Carlotta—and her Pidgeot staring at us. There are only a few smudges of dirt on Carlotta's face and shoulders; her tawny companion's crest is only slightly ruffled. They look composed and ready for action—worse than that, they look  _aware._  They look confident.  
  
Koga glances us over one more time—a striking contrast in sweat and dirt and blood and powder—before sighing. "Would you like an escort back to the Pokémon Center, or do you need time to recover from the maze?"  
  
True doesn't speak. Clara lowers herself and meets my eyes. I nod in understanding. "We'll just... we'll leave."  
  
Koga nods. "Of course. Safe travels."  
  
Clara seems no worse for wear after our battle. She beats her wings in an open invitation—for flight or for acknowledgement, I don't know. True rubs the top of Clara's head with shaking fingers as she leads the way back to the maze.  
  
"It appears we were wrong about you," Carlotta says. "Though I would hope any flying-type could manage a bug."  
  
Clara hisses. True doesn't respond.  
  
"Enjoy your break," the woman says, confidently walking onto the field.  
  
Heron the Pidgeot follows her meekly, but silently catches my eyes. "My best to you and your trainer."  
  
I'll tell myself later that True's vice-like grip is the reason I bare my teeth.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Three

"Now if you'll just hold still, this won't take as long."

It isn't as though I'm afraid of needles. I'm not. But there's a difference between getting one little poke and getting a bunch of them. Vaccinations for lingering powder residue, stamina boosters, extra vitamins for recharging the energy I'd lost in battle... there's too much upkeep. Do the others have to go through this, or am I the only lucky one?

The Chansey slips the final needle from out of my arm and chucks it in the bright red bin behind her. "What'd I tell you?" she asks, winking from underneath a cap too big for her head.

"To stay still," I patiently repeat.

"Smarty pants," the Chansey teases. "So now you're all cleared, you'll get to battle again and see your trainer."

I chance one peek out the observation window. It's late in the evening, close enough to even get to morning, but True's still standing outside with her arms crossed. Wilkes floats beside her, murmuring something in her ear. I see her lips move, but she still looks scared.

The wet cloth pulls me back into my body. I look up at the Chansey, whose dark eyes are on mine. "Unless you don't want to go back?"

My eyes narrow. "She isn't abusing me, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh! No, I'm not thinking that at all," she clucks. "Though you know we have services available...?"

"Thanks, but no," I say, and jump off the observation table. "I just need to get back to her. Am I done?"

She sighs. "Guess so. Just be careful the next few days, especially if you're traveling. You heading to Cinnabar?"

Why am I still talking to her? "Maybe. Might go to Saffron."

"If you're heading there on foot, be careful for looters. I heard from my cousin that the city's gone wild since the Rocket fiasco. You have a flier?" When I nod she smiles. "Pick up a hotel, not the Center. And be careful."

I laugh. "You going to check up on me?"

"Any Pokemon is my responsibility," the Chansey says, puffing her chest out proudly. "I took an oath, you know."

I smile. "Thank you," I say, as the fat pink Pokemon waddles for the door. It opens just enough for me to slip through. True's only a few feet away, standing with her arms crossed beside a floating Wilkes. She sways when she notices me come up to her; Wilkes's hands are on her shoulder, steading her, as she leans down to grab me. Her nose finds its place by my shoulder. "Everything's okay?"

"I'm gonna be just fine," I say. "You hear about Jackson and Clara?"

"They came out an hour ago," Wilkes says.

She shouldn't have waited up for me. There's no color in her cheeks and a light sheen of sweat over her forehead. "We're all okay," I tell her. "Let's get some sleep, 'kay?"

It's a slow walk from the Center lobby to our room. There are two dark, still shapes in the dimly lit room; Clara and Jackson must be in their Poké Balls. It's the first time I've seen Hyde staying still—he's grouped in a nest of True's old shirts, each head murmuring oddities under their breath. Britt's retreated into her shell, taking up most of the space between the wall and the bed. True has to climb over her to reach the bed. She falls into it with a grunt and climbs under the covers, not even bothering to strip out of her clothes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I whisper.

She flashes a glance to Britt, to Hyde, to Wilkes, before shaking her head. "In the morning."

I fall asleep almost immediately, and wake up to a shrill sharp sound. True hits snooze on the first alarm; the second time it blares, she turns it off and rolls onto her back. By this point Britt has already meandered out of the room, either for a quick meal or a light sparring match. There's a clear view of the training grounds from our second-story room; I watch Britt trade friendly blows with a Hitmonchan while Jackson, fresh out of his ball, watches, occasionally blowing bits of fire up into the air.

The bedside clock reads 9:47 when True stirs and pushes herself up from the warm spot of her mattress. She leans over me and looks down at the battlefield; Jackson has taken Britt's place against the punching Pokemon.

"I should be down there, shouldn't I?" Her words stick together with sleep.

I shrug. "S'not like anything's gonna hurt 'em. And if something happens, there're doctors nearby."

It was supposed to comfort her, but True's sigh falls heavy beside me. "I lost it back in the gym."

There's a red mark on her cheek—I find a matching one on the back of her hand. "You didn't lose it," I say. "You got us through the match. Clara was great." I pause. "If anyone lost it back there, it was me."

"Confuse Ray does that," she murmurs.

If I concentrate, I can remember the flashes of memory, the shifting shapes. I remember the pounding of my heart in my ears, the wobbling sound.

Had that been what Cassidy had felt, back in Silph?

"Why did you want to fight back there?" True asks.

Hyde is still snoozing loudly in the corner. "That Venonat looked so little, and... I was worried Clara'd hurt her."

"I wouldn't have let her," True says. "Do you believe that?"

I don't know what I believe anymore. I remember the bit of jaw that had fallen from Brock's Onix from Kerri's Double Kick, and Jackson's fire igniting in the open mouth of Erika's Weepinbell.

"Sometimes they go wild," I say. I think of Cassidy curled low and dangerous; me leaving scorch marks on the ground. "We go wild."

"One time," Hyde interrupts, and I turn to the six pairs of bright eyes. "One time I saw a Rhyhorn start rampaging for no reason at all." Three mouths yawn open. "Later he said that he just—wanted to run. Didn't see any problem—in kickin' up dust."

It only takes True patting the mattress to bring the Exeggcute up onto the bed with us. "Did you ever get to do a lot of battling?" True asks.

"Not a bunch—I mean, there was some—fighting cousins for the best food—nothing special. Nobody'd let me go out anywhere."

True's eyes are wide when she turns to me. When I nod encouragingly, she sighs and asks, "So you're... you're okay with battling?"

"Yeah! You just gotta tell us what to do—and I'll fight!—And try not to die!"

True's hands come up to cover her face, and it's all I can do to shock the Exeggcute even as he jumps from the table and begins to bounce around her. "Oh, I didn't mean—I mean nobody else is gonna die, we're not—from what you've said it's not like any of those were your fault."

Can't he stop talking? I shake my head. Even with six pairs of eyes, he doesn't seem to notice me, and keeps talking.

"I mean I've heard of trainers who just—send their Pokemon out without any training whatsoever. You're too nice for that."

A green eye peeks out from trembling fingers.

"Yeah! Like, you don't call me stupid or anything—just 'cause I talk a lot and can't shut up—and that big Blastoise seems so mean but she's still around.—Your Fearow doesn't talk, an' she's still here. So.—Everything's good. Right?"

Everything isn't good. Nothing is good. But I see some of the tension leave True's shoulders as she leans over toward Hyde, laying her hand on top of one of the big pink heads.

"Maybe we need to just... get going," I say. "Are you ready? Because we can stay—"

"They'll start playing the match soon," True murmurs. She threads one hand through her bangs, pushes them out of her eyes. They're getting too long again. "I don't want to be here when that happens."

But if we're noticed for anything, it's for the sparring matches Jackson and Britt had been conducting in the training ground by the Pokemon Center. One final check-up and check-out later, and we're headed down toward the beach. The most direct route bypasses our cliff side lunch spot, snaking through small shops and bakeries. True slips a small wad of bills for a large pastry and splits it seven ways. She even laughs when Clara, who had stolen her share straight from True's hands, balks at the sweetness.

I laugh a bit too around my bit of pastry.

It's early afternoon now, and the beach is swarming with battlers and sports players alike. Balls fly into the air just as often as bursts of electricity and fire. There's an organized chaos everywhere. Jackson surveys the area, holding his head high, and asks, "We're not training here, are we?"

True shakes her head. "No. We're actually... we're going to head to Cinnabar."

I lift my head from her hair, which I had messily pulled back into a low bun.

"I thought the next gym was in Saffron," Britt says.

"There's nothing that says we can't do them out of order," I say. "If this is what True wants to do—"

"Watch out!"

True ducks immediately. I don't even notice the ball until it's caught in Britt's paw, and don't register what's happened until I see a slim shape approach us. The girl who runs over wears a smile and almost nothing else: the dark red bikini only just covers her, exposing red-tinted skin. Her brown hair is tied back in a loose ponyta-tail, bouncing right along with her. "Sorry for that! Myra's Machoke got a little too excited with that play."

Britt hands back the ball with a grunt. "Tell Myra to teach her friend how to aim."

The bikini-clad girl catches it easily but doesn't respond—her huge eyes are focused on True. "Yeah. Hey, uh, this might sound weird, but... you look kind of familiar."

They can't have released that gym battle yet. True looks down at me, and when I shrug, she murmurs, "I don't... I don't think so. Sorry."

"Are you sure? Because I could've sworn..."

We could have passed each other along a street, or maybe had a friendly battle on the side of the road. Maybe she does look a bit familiar if I squint. Maybe from Silph...?

The Clefairy who waddles up to us has its tiny paws on its sides, eyes narrowed from the sun glare. "These people givin' you trouble, Lacey?"

I should remember a Clefairy.

"No, I have the ball," Lacey says. "Guess you have one of those faces. I'll just—"

True's hands fly to her face, her eyes bright. "Mount Moon!"

That's when I remember. The last time we'd seen her it had been under bright hospital lights, being whisked away by hospital staff. The girl in front of us is not the scared, bleeding girl Peter had found curled up in a corner, being harassed by a horde of Zubat.

True isn't the same girl either.

Lacey's smile grows bigger, enough to break her face in two. "Yes! You're the—oh my gosh! Clarence," she says, beaming down to the Clefairy, "remember? I mean, I guess you don't, you were in your Poké Ball, but this—this is the girl who saved me!"

"Saved?" Britt repeats.

The bravado slips off the Clefairy's face. "Oh. Oh, I—thank you."

"You took me to the hospital in Cerulean, and by the time I got out you had already gone! You didn't even let me thank you properly!"

Because right after that had been the battle with Gary, our first encounter with Team Rocket, and a gym battle. True seems to think the same thing. "Things got... a little hectic." There's a smile trying to break free. "I'm glad to see you're okay though."

"I'm totally great! I mean, I didn't get my 'authentic Mount Moon Moon Stone,' but the little things, right?" She fidgets the volleyball in her nimble hands. 

"That's what you were looking for?" I ask.

Lacey nods. "I'm a collector! I was looking for a stone to evolve Clarence, but... well, you know how that turned out. But I just came back from the Safari Zone and I got so many Leaf Stones—ooh! Just—wait right there, I'll be right back!"

She takes her ball and Clarence between her arms and dashes back towards the net.

"Leaf Stones from the Safari Zone!" Hyde says. "I've heard about those—my cousin—"

When Clara grabs one head with her foot, all six heads scream. Wilkes hovers near True's belt and hits the camo-colored ball, immediately recalling the shrieking Exeggcute. When we turn to him, he simply says, "I figured it would be less traumatic."

"You're the one who gets to explain what happened," Britt says, her mouth curled up in a smirk.

Jackson turns away from a battle farther down the eastern shore to look at us. "I still don't understand how you know her."

"It's a long story," I say. I look up at True. "You okay?"

True's face is gleaming with sweat. "I, um. I don't know?"

"She's pretty cute," Britt says.

I swear Clara is snickering. True's face flushes crimson. "N-No, it's—I'm not—"

But she stops when she notices Lacey running back toward us, hiding something in her cupped hands. True runs a hand through her hair and looks up shyly as I move from the top of her head onto her shoulder. "You—You really don't have to do this."

"But I want to!" Lacey says. "My papa always said that you have to repay your debts. I've been waiting to do this since you dropped me off." Her hands open. "It may not seem like much, but..."

The gray-green stone doesn't wink in the sunlight, the way I remember Al's Thunder Stone doing. I'm not drawn to it by anything more than curiosity. Clara tilts her head and Jackson snorts, muttering something about "stupid shiny rocks" under his breath. Wilkes and Britt eye each other for a moment before drawing back away from the two human girls.

True's hands shake in front of her. "I—thank you, but... I can't accept this."

"No, please! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here to have it," Lacey says. "It'll make me feel better if you take it?"

It doesn't look heavy, but when True finally takes the stone—careful not to let her hand brush with Lacey's—her hand sags. "Then we're even."

"Even!" Lacey chirps. "And thank you again. We're about to play another game, if you want to join us?"

The group of players near the net are looking over at us. The Machoke who had punched the ball over is now flexing his muscles to a bouncing Hitmonchan. They look strong and tan and in excellent shape.

"No, we, um... we're headed to Cinnabar," True says. "But thank you. For everything."

"Of course! Good luck on the seas—oh! And maybe take a stop at Seafoam Islands. I've heard the ice caverns are beautiful this time of year, all the pretty lights, and... you're trying to leave."

True's smile is gentle when she replies, "No, I'll... I'll keep that in mind. But I think your friends, um, might want you to go back."

Lacey swings her head back over to the net—sure enough, Clarence is hopping up and down in an attempt to grab his trainer's attention. "Shoot. Okay. Safe travels!" she says, and leaves with a wave of her hand and a large smile.

There's a brief, glorious moment where the only thing we hear is the beating of the waves on the shore, the dull buzzing of battles down the beach—

"Look at you, accepting tokens of girls' favors," Britt snickers.

—And just like that, the moment's gone.

True's face is almost as red as her hair when she turns to face Britt. "C-Can we just get going now?"

The sly smile is still on Clara's face when she opens her wings—

"Hang on."

All eyes turn to Britt, whose fists are curled near her chest. "Look, I'm in the mood for a long swim. You're still recovering from that gym battle. No," Britt says, as Clara growls, "you wannna fight me on this? Jackson's not complaining."

Jackson hasn't made a miles-long flight with True before. But even he doesn't say anything, just looks between Clara and Britt warily.

Clara shuffles on the sand toward Britt, pressing her beak against Britt's flat nose. She growls low and lightly pecks Britt before turning away with a huff.

"I think I'll speak for Clara, Jackson and myself when I say that it'd be best to recall us. There certainly won't be room for all of us."

True looks toward the three named Pokemon, her free hand on her belt. "If you're sure...?"

Jackson pats Clara on the back, then nods at us. "We'll see you when you stop."

Each of them disappears in similar flashes of red light, leaving only Britt, True and I on the beach. Light catches on Britt's cannons as she turns toward the shoreline, stepping into the frothing waters. "You want to get there before nightfall?"

True shuffles awkwardly alongside Britt until half of her legs are underwater. She climbs atop Britt and sits with her legs crossed, holding on to the glossy silver cannons. I check to make sure the guitar is securely tied to True's backpack before I press up against her stomach, trying to find purchase on the gleaming brown shell. There is none.

Britt's fully horizontal now, bobbing easily in the deeper water. "We all set back there?"

True chances a look back at the beach behind her, and sighs. "Yeah. Y-Yeah, let's go."

 

I had gotten used to flying on Clara. It didn't mean I liked it. The views were spectacular, sure, and the wind on my face could be refreshing—but takes offs were too abrupt even when I prepped myself for them, and Clara liked to go fast, and there was always a chance, no matter how small, of us falling off or plummeting down to a brutal death thousands of feet below.

I like Clara much more than I like Britt... but I like surfing so much more than flying.

Maybe it's because I know that it's only a three-feet distance between me and the ocean, or that the spray of salt water just smells better than thin air. Britt moves leisurely through the water and seems more relaxed than I've ever seen her—not even the jumping Magikarp phase her. She's staring straight ahead and if I listen past the hushing ocean I can even hear—

"When were you going to tell us you liked to sing?" I ask.

The husky melody fades into the spray. Britt's pace doesn't change even as she lifts her head to speak. "S'not like I'm planning to make a career out of it."

And blushing at a girl doesn't mean you're romantically interested. True's face is turned up to the sun, backpack held close to her chest, eyes closed. She doesn't look up when I move closer to the lip of Britt's shell. "You just didn't seem like the type to... y'know."

"I don't know. Tell me."

Not be a bitch, I want to say. "Do the singing thing. And be good at it."

Her snort is swallowed up by the salty breeze.

"Anything else we should know about you?" I quip.

The cold ocean nips at my feet. I hear True yelp in surprise as Britt submerges most of her body under the surface. Water drips from her cannons when she pulls back up; there's a teasing grin on her face.

"Got it," I mutter. "Didn't have to get us all wet."

"We're swimming in the ocean, Britt scoffs. "You thought you'd stay dry?"

I grunt a reply, but it's True's nervous laughter that carries over the waves. Her pants are completely soaked and already smell like salt when I climb into her lap. "No way to make her stop that?"

"Maybe you shouldn't tease her," True says, scratching behind my ears. "But I bet everyone would have more fun if we all got along."

"He started it!" Britt says, as she moves into a gentle current.

We trade gentle barbs as the current takes us further west; True occasionally joins in between shifts of pensive sleep and restless waking. The clouds have grown darker since we left Fuchsia, taking up huge swaths of a pinkening sky. "I don't like the look of that."

True lifts her head up and sighs. "You think it will rain?"

"Hopefully not until we hit land," Britt says.

If I climb on top of True's head I can see a dark shape, far off in the distance. "You think that's Cinnabar?"

True pulls out her Pokédex from her backpack and clicks a few buttons. "Um... no. That should be Seafoam Islands."

"Didn't that girl say something about going in there?" Britt asks.

This time True doesn't blush. "Yeah. But unless the only way to Cinnabar is through the caves, I say we skip it and move on."

"And miss the ice?" I tease. "Who knows when you'll be able to see so much of it again?"

"Don't forget the rocks," True teases back. "And all the Pokemon."

"You'll have to fly on someone then," Britt says. "Current's doing most of the work right now but I can't go on past the Islands."

True hesitates before leaning over, pressing her hand on top of Britt's head. "You did a lot of swimming today. Um. Thank you."

I expect her to flinch away from the touch, or do something, but Britt doesn't even seem to notice the touch. "Yeah, well. Nice to actually be doing something. Been a while since I've been out on the water for a long time."

"Oh. Um, should I do that more? If that's something you like doing—"

"I just like moving," Britt says. "And we're doing that. So I'm fine."

True doesn't reply. She types a few more commands into the Pokédex and, seemingly satisfied, closes it with a snap. She zips everything up tightly before lounging along Britt's back. "I bet you'd like the seaside by Pallet. It's far away from the town, but the beach is beautiful. Best sunsets. Sometimes we even find Shellder lounging on the shore. Krabby blow bubbles."

"We'll have to go back there," I say. "Maybe—"

Britt jerks to the side, flumbering in the current. I hold on to the first thing I can grab—True's hair—as we spin around. The ocean writhes underneath us, dark waters spotted with white foam. "The hell was that?"

I don't recognize the low rumbling until water sprays from one of Britt's cannons, a warning shot. "It was something. Don't know what, though."

How much farther to shore? There aren't any patches of land nearby, but the Seafoam Islands are coming into better view. "Do we stay here or try and make a break for it?"

"You all better hold on tight," Britt says, and surges forward.

The water sprays in our faces, blinding us with salt. Under True I have more support and shelter from the higher blasts, but it leaves me vulnerable when Britt has to charge into the waves. I keep spitting out ocean and wiping my eyes on my soaked forearm, but it does nothing. Everything smells like salt and there's only the churning of waves and True's body heavy on top of mine—

A shattering roar.

Britt's screaming something and True's screaming something and I'm probably screaming too, but none of that screaming makes more noise than the horrible howls of the ocean, of our attacker. I can only see blurs, but the frothing white water that Britt fires from her cannons connects with a tall dark mass that bows away from the spray, that retaliates with a jet of water that hits Britt square in the face.

I wiggle out of True's hold just enough to fire a huge bolt of electricity. It hits, illuminating the Gyarados as it screeches and recoils from the attack. It falls into the sea with a groan, sending up a huge wave just above us—

It crashes down and suddenly there's nothing to hold onto anymore, nothing but foam.

The last thing I hear is me screaming True's name before salty water floods in my mouth and everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While playing the game I did go to Saffron first, and then Cinnabar, but for plotty reasons True and company will visit Blaine first. We'll still see Sabrina before we head to Viridian for our eighth badge. It will be awesome. As far as this chapter goes, I apologize if it seems long or too full of stuff--this very easily could have been split into two chapters, but I wanted to start speeding things along and get back into the action, talk to people, etc etc. Lacey coming back was something I had planned on happening a while ago (she was originally going to come in at Celadon!) and it's only been now that I've been able to work her in. 
> 
> Apologies for ending on a cliffhanger. I promise there'll be a lot of cool things happening in CH54. ;)


	58. Chapter Fifty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomiting, ruminating suicide, near freezing, near drowning

It's a struggle to stay above the water.  
  
I take huge breaths of air when I can. The crashing seas and my own screams are the most dominant sounds as I'm swept through the powerful currents. The ocean has blinded me; I flail in the darkness, strike out against the waves. Something sharp catches on my tail,and suddenly I'm faster through the current. Electricity builds in my belly but I can't release it, I'm too busy trying to breathe. I bump into something solid, over and over again—solid and cool and slick.  
  
We're underwater again. I can't open my eyes to see, so I use my ears. Something strong is tearing through the waves, pushing back up to the surface. Something else brushes against me, and I recoil against the bigger body—and then back to the smaller body—to the larger. It goes this way until we finally break the surface one more time—I sail through the air and land on something hard.  
  
The ground moves under me. I grip it tight, feel cold sand between my fingers.  
  
Sand.  _Land_.  
  
"...Mama said to  _wait_..."  
  
"What Mama doesn't know..."  
  
This must be what water-type Pokémon feel, I think, as I vomit water onto the ground. The pastry doesn't taste as good coming back up. Maybe it's the salt water.  
  
"She's gonna find out."  
  
Blinking quickly gives me some sight back, and I take in my surroundings. Hazy shapes and colors slowly solidify into icy walls, frosty rocks, and a frigid beach. There's no sign of the sky here. I'm on the shore. Two white shapes are in the water, heads bobbing inquisitively in the dark water. Not icebergs. Other Pokémon  
  
"Where am I?" I rasp.  
  
"Home," the smallest shape says. Not a shape. A Seel, with huge brown eyes and a flat muzzle. "Where'd you come from?"  
  
I wipe my eyes with my forearm, careful to avoid the sand-crusted parts. "A ways away from here," I say. "Arceus. Wh-Where'd you find me?"  
  
The other Seel, larger and darker than I'm used to seeing, pulls out of the surf. "Bobbing. There was a human—"  
  
"Human," I repeat.  _True_. "That's who I was  _with_ , why—"  
  
"We thought it was trying to catch you!" the smaller Seel says. "So we saved you!"  
  
"I  _told_  you we should've waited for Mama."  
  
I feel fifty times heavier, but somehow I'm able to push myself into a standing position. "Look, it's... it's okay, I just need to get out of here. Can you help me?"  
  
The two Seel look at each other quizzically before shaking their heads. "No," says the smaller one, "Mama needs to be here."  
  
"We weren't supposed to go out in the first place," says the larger.  
  
Do not shock these children. Do not do anything rash. I take a deep breath. "Then where is your—"  
  
My answer comes with the rainbow-colored beam that strikes three inches from me. I turn to see a huge, gray-dappled Dewgong snarling from one of the cavern hallways. I put my paws up and back into the water as she approaches, sliding on her belly with her mouth open.  
  
"Mama, we found a present for A—"  
  
"This is a Human's Pokémon!" the Dewgong hisses. "What were you thinking? I told you to  _stay here!_ "  
  
"But Mama—"  
  
"No!" Mama Dewgong growls. "You were supposed to look for rocks, not— _STOP!_ "  
  
I'm already flying by the time the Dewgong has noticed me. I dodge another Aurora Beam by inches, ducking into a tiny tunnel. The Seel children's cries and Mama Dewgong's furious snarls echo along the walls. I'm starting to lose feeling in my front paws, but I can still move. I can  _move_ , and think, and breathe.  
  
It doesn't matter if the Dewgong or her children are on my tail. Someone else will be, soon.  
  
Just from looking at the river that rages beside me I can tell the currents are too strong for me to push through. I look up at a fork in front of me: the left path is stone, worn smooth from bodies sliding down the way; the path to the right is decorated with slabs of sharp ice, gleaming dangerously in the half light.  
  
The left path looks smoother—  
  
Out of nowhere, song fills the tunnels. Sharp staccato notes that tumble into long stretches of high melody bounce off the icy walls, coming from the left-hand fork. There are other Pokémon down that way. There's only silence from the right. I whisper a prayer to Arceus as I jump into the fragmented path, careful to avoid the splinters of ice that jag out from the walls.  
  
I'm not used to adrenaline in my veins, to colors being so bright and sharp and noises coming so suddenly out of nowhere. Is this what real Battlers feel like? All the time? There's something familiar about the twitching in my muscles, the urge to move and keep moving, that reminds me of the Cerulean gym battle, of the Fuchsia gym battle. I don't know if I like it.  
  
But it saves me from a sudden stream of water to my face—I move away from the brunt of the attack as electricity flies from my belly to my cheeks to the shrieking Seadra that falls back into the water. Somehow I have feeling back in my fingers. Good.  
  
When wings slap the air I look up to see a flock of Golbat shrieking at me, and suddenly it's Strike multiplied by a hundred. I zap the first and watch as it barrels into its neighbor. But I can't shock them all out of the sky. Heavy feet seize the back of my neck, the base of my tail. I see stars. Just as I'm about to strike again, a long, wet tongue strokes the side of my face. I flinch inwardly, curl up into a ball, because  _holy shit that's not no_. I lose the feeling I had in my toes and fall limp in the Golbat's hold.  
  
"What should we do with it? Feed?"  
  
"Not hungry enough for that."  
  
If I can just get my electricity—  
  
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
My heart's beating in my head, an erratic  _tha-dump pa-dump_  that drowns out my shaky breaths. There's a flurry of movement and suddenly I'm airborne. I don't have enough power to shock my captor—even if I did, there must be twenty other Golbat flying around us. It's hard to keep my eyes open. But I'm breathing.  
  
Maybe if I were more awake, if I weren't fearing for my life, I'd be able to take in the sights. But all I can notice is a blur of white and gray and blue as the Golbat flock flies down pathways, screeching songs in reedy voices. Sure enough there's a steady trail of Pokémon that follow by land and through the water, each throwing up songs of their own in between objects in their mouths and paws. We move procession-like down to a cavern that opens dramatically to the sky. The skies are grayer than they had been when the Gyarados had attacked, with more clouds. Somehow it's colder out here in the open than it had been in the caves.  
  
The Golbat is kind enough to place me on the ground, but it leans over me threateningly. Hot breath washes over me, sharp and rank. "One wrong move and you'll be frozen, Battler."  
  
But I don't want to be here. I'd attacked out of self-defense. I hadn't done anything wrong.  
  
Right?  
  
No one makes a move for me, though several Seadra point their gun-like muzzles at me. Now that I'm closer and not fearing a fall, I can see the pile that the assembled Pokémon add to. Smooth, brilliant rocks are set reverently against shining bits of jewelery, wrapped in braided seaweed. I'm the only other Pokémon on the stone island; the other Pokémon keep to the water and to the sky, looking up into the clouds.  
  
The chatter between Pokémon silences immediately in wake of a new whisper of melody. It echoes in this space, bounces off the rocky walls and the sheets of ice and snow. Something pulls my head up and I watch as a long blue shape emerges from the icy caverns high in the distance, bright against the dark clouds. The temperature dips. Snow spirals in elegant patterns before settling on the ground.  
  
I'd seen drawings in picture books, in faded photographs by photographers who had risked life and limb for lifetime-defining shots. It doesn't prepare me for the real thing. There is three-pronged crest, the sparkling blue plumage, the steel-colored beak and feet, the ribbon-like tail, all there just as I'd seen them.  
  
I bow low, almost kissing ice-crusted stone. My breathing doesn't slow; I've been fighting and running for too long. My eyes flit up to the icy bird that flutters down and lands before me. The sharp talons leave deep marks in the thick layer of frost that's gathered in the wake of the icy Pokémon.  
  
"Presents for you, Articuno!" one of the Seadra cries. "Treasures from the heart, and a wanderer from the mainland for you to do with as you wish!"  
  
"Dazzle us with your strength!"  
  
"Show us your grace!"  
  
Articuno shifts in the growing layer of snow and ice, leaning over me. I feel a heavy beak prod the back of my head, the base of my tail, the tips of my ears. It takes everything in me to not release electricity—maybe the great bird senses it, because the beak pulls away.  
  
"I just… I want to go home," I whimper. "My trai—"  
  
"He admits it! He's a Battler!" someone shouts. "He came with Humans!"  
  
One steely foot lashes out to grab me. My blood runs down tiny clawed toes. I'm pinned on the ground again with a bird of legend's claws in my skin, and maybe later I'll say that that's the reason I let loose a weak bolt of electricity, but right now it's because I'm scared and there's a mob wanting my death and  _What if I never see True again?_  
  
There's an angry roar all around me. Bodies splash in the water. Articuno doesn't even seem to flinch at my attack. Feathers rustle as Articuno's wings snap open, blowing cold fronts all over the audience. I shake in the great bird's hold and start talking.  
  
"If you're worried about my Trainer attacking you, or… or taking you away from here, she—she isn't even the caverns, I don't think, and even if she was she won't... She doesn't do things like that, she… Her team asks to join her, she offers, she… she'll leave you alone if that's what you want. I'll leave, we'll all leave and you'll never see us or anyone else again."  
  
"Humans come down here to take us!" hisses a Golbat. "Your word means nothing against years of fleeing capture."  
  
"Of protecting our children!"  
  
"If they knew Articuno was down here, too, they'd never leave! We'll all be taken away! This place would die!"  
  
A memory comes back, years old. My brother falling off a snowy cliff on Mt. Coronet. Al suddenly reappearing in a gust of frigid air, a shadowy shape flying off in the distance. He'd spent the night recovering in the Pokémon Center, Al pointing to the book Chris had found in the waiting room. Not just a bird of legend, but something tangible, something to be seen.  
  
My brother had said that in all the photos, in all the drawings, they'd messed up the eyes. The eyes he'd seen hadn't been murderous or even proud. There had been sadness in them, an age-old wariness.  
  
He'd been right.  
  
"Then I-I won't say anything," I say, looking straight into the Ice Titan's eyes. "I promise, on—on whatever you want, Articuno. My word, my—"  
  
"Words mean nothing!" a Zubat shrieks.  
  
My throat's closing from panic. "On my, my honor—"  
  
"As what? A Battler?" a Horsea squeals. "Battlers don't have honor, everyone knows that."  
  
Al's face flashes in my mind. "My brother was a Battler and he never… he never killed anyone. He  _was_  killed, by an Arcanine—a fire-type. Burned," I say, to the Seel that start to crouch under the water, "too badly to really recognize. Articuno…" The eyes are wary, bright and alert, when I look into them. "Please, you saved him, way back in Sinnoh. I swear on his… on his  _memory_ , that I'll keep you a secret. From everyone. But my Trainer… my True, she  _needs_  me, and I can't die here, I can't leave her alone."  
  
There's a painful silence, a crushing weight between the clawed foot and a hundred pairs of eyes staring at me.  
  
But then the foot lifts and I'm staring back at Articuno, whose wide icy wings are open and beating at the air. It's something that Clara would do. Is silence a common trait in bird Pokémon? I've heard the Pidgey gabbing with morning gossip in Pallet Town, heard Spearow trading insults on the wind… there's no rhyme or reason to this.  
  
Articuno flies up into the air and the temperature drops, plummets, but it's easy to not pay attention to that when the Ice Titan, the Frostbringer is soaring right over your head. The Pokémon below gasp and laugh in amazement as Articuno dips back down to the ground, talons out—they dig under my skin and suddenly I'm flying too, held tight like prey.  
  
"Enjoy your last moments!" I hear one of the Pokémon cry. Any other words are swept up by the wind generated with every wingbeat.  
  
This can't be where I die, this can't—  
  
" _HOLD YOUR PROMISE._ "  
  
The words ring in my head far after we've left the icy clearing, flying nimbly through dripping rock formations and spears of ice. Snow flutters down from Articuno's wings as we climb up and up and up, through spaces I would think too small for a giant bird. But they're not, or maybe as a Legendary Pokémon Articuno has the power to shift the rocks however it pleases. The higher we climb the warmer I start to feel, the more I can stop thinking that I might  _intentionally_  be killed—  
  
I'm falling. I land on the ground hard, feel my shoulder immediately start to bruise. In the time it takes me to push myself off the ground, my hurt arm dangling uselessly beside me, Articuno has vanished. There's only a thin line of melody in its wake, high sounds that would easily be lost in a blizzard.  
  
There aren't any Pokémon here. Not as much frost, either, though the walls are still sheathed in ice. I can't move as quickly on two legs as I can on four, but two great legs is better than three. There's a gnawing in my belly, and maybe it's hunger or maybe it's the feeling that things aren't over yet, that something bad is going to happen soon. I don't know.  
  
All I know is that, for the second time in Arceus-knows how long, I'm lost.  
  
Maybe if I just take a break on one of the drier rocks.  
  
The stone is cold but it feels good on my arm. Maybe I've done more than bruise it. It doesn't hurt to move, not yet. Muscle damage? I don't know. Battle injuries are beyond me.  _Battles_  are beyond me. Just attack, attack, avoid, avoid. Keep moving or die. Or wait for the perfect moment to strike. I don't know any of these things—somehow I have a feeling that I'd gotten by on pure dumb luck.  
  
What's that chattering?  
  
My teeth. Shit.  
  
The wounds from Articuno's claws are still there, but at least they've stopped bleeding. If I move slowly I can bend down to the puncture wound on my side. The blood isn't as salty as the water, and most of it has dried in the cold. I feel it on my lips when I pull back to lean against the rock. My breath isn't smoking anymore.  
  
I need to find True. But I don't think I can move just yet.  
  
I spark a bit of feeling back into my toes, and wiggle them against the cold ground. Any warmth I've just given myself is robbed from me. I hold my good paw close to my chest—that's something I remember from Sinnoh: keep yourself small.  
  
I was also supposed to find shelter from the cold and not use a lot of energy. Fucked that up.  
  
"I don't wh-want to die s-sitting here," I whimper. I sound like Peter.  
  
I think, if I were ever going to die, I'd want it to be quick. Bloodless. Just one shot, bam, and I'd be done. Maybe I'd come back as a ghost, and watch my loved ones. Heh. Maybe Al is secretly Wilkes, and he's forgotten, or he  _hasn't_. But Al would never talk like Wilkes. Too sophisticated.  
  
Something like wind blows through the open cave. A warm wind. Something thumps down the hallway, heavy heavy light-light-light, heavy heavy. Like a backbeat.  
  
Maybe my singing carries over the sound. I don't know. I can hardly hear myself do it, only recognize my throat clenching and a ballad I remember something singing to me a very, very long time ago. Before I'd met True. Maybe even before I'd come to Kanto. I sing even as the heavy thumps grow louder, as a giant brown figure crowned in green hobbles over to me. Even as someone starts crying my name, even when a heavy body falls on top of mine. Even as hot tears sink into my skin.  
  
I see green eyes and breathe my brother's name before I pass out.  
  


* * *

  
_"Are you even listening to me?"  
  
There's a teasing gleam in the Eevee's eyes but no smile to match. I drop the dark guitar in my lap and look at her, fingers still twitching over the strings. "Yeah. Something about… someone fighting."  
  
Cassidy sighs. "Not yet. You missed the opening ceremonies for the League championship. We usually watch those together."  
  
It was the only part I could watch. No fighting, just a lot of flashing lights and music and introducing competitors. The past few years had even gotten pretty good—they'd started bringing in bigger and better bands. This year's group, The Jump Kick Carousels, was supposed to even feature a few Pokémon instrumentalists. "Those players any good?"  
  
"The trainers and their teams don't look too shabby," she says, missing the point. Her body is warm when she sits down beside me. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
"Did they show Ch… the Champion?"  
  
"A few times," she says. "He didn't seem very into it."  
  
Nine is not the same as ten. I know this. It doesn't stop me from thinking that next year is the tenth year anniversary of Chris's big win, of my brother's death, and even though so much time has passed it doesn't feel real. Sometimes I still expect to get a phone call from him.  
  
Cassidy's paw pushes against my forearm, drawing me out of my head. This time there's a smile on her face. "You know, if you ever need to talk about anything… I've been told I'm a great listener." When I don't reply, she nudges her head against my side. "You were playing something before I barged in here. I'd like to listen?"  
  
I pick up the guitar and hold it down in my lap, suddenly feeling fifty times heavier. I turn back to Cassidy to see her honey-brown eyes stare out at me from a blue face.  
  
"Just breathe," Cassidy the Vaporeon says. "I'll be right here when you wake up."  
  
A dusky brown paw presses against the top of my head. Al's looking back down with a satisfied smile on his face, his ears twitching happily.  
  
I play our song._  
  


* * *

  
Waking comes in stages. My sense of touch comes first: I'm layered between two hot bodies. There's a heavy something draped over me. Hearing comes next: fitful breathing, the crackling of a fire, snores, bodies shifting in the sand, waves slipping over the shore. My arm doesn't hurt anymore, and there aren't any pains on my side—I dimly remember being sprayed by something out here on the beach. It must have been a Potion.  
  
"You dreamed of him."  
  
Sight comes last, with Wilkes's eyes meeting mine in the almost-darkness. The moon is shrouded by clouds, the flame on Jackson's tail is the only source of light we have.  
  
"More often now," I whisper,.  
  
I pull myself out of True's embrace gently, trying not to disturb her. True's face clenches, and for a moment I pause—I only move when her features smooth out again, when her hand finds Jackson's neck.  
  
It's hard to see Wilkes in the darkness, but I feel his clawed hand on my shoulder as he guides me just a little ways away from True and Jackson. The firelight catches the curled body of an unfamiliar tree, the only of its kind in the area. I'm just about to move away when the great figure suddenly starts snoring—six identical snores that rumble like far-away thunder.  
  
"That isn't—"  
  
"Hyde, yes," Wilkes whispers. "He wanted to help. Evolution gave him great powers, and they were essential to locating you."  
  
I look back over to the Exeggutor, snoring obliviously beside us. He was much more of a threat now, almost twenty times his previous size. He looked taller than Jackson and Clara just when he was sitting. Standing up... well, he could probably squish me under his feet and not feel it.  
  
"True would never kill anyone," I murmur quietly to myself.  
  
She wouldn't. She wouldn't, I know this.  
  
Wilkes hears me anyway. "But you fear it."  
  
I inch farther away from Hyde and the others, heading toward the shore. Even in the dead of night, the sand is warmer here. "I've been on the other side of it. Not dying. But having someone I love die, I can't…"  
  
Wilkes follows me, eying me steadily.  
  
I turn away. "I can't put anyone through that. Even if they're trying to hurt me."  
  
Wilkes lowers himself so that we see eye to eye; I can't help but stare into them. They're glowing a dark purple. Maybe it's supposed to be calming. "The two weeks we were in that man's house, Britt taught us how to hold ourselves back. You weren't there, because—"  
  
"I was taking care of True," I whisper. "Right."  
  
"Once you learn control, you'll prevent tragedy. That is the goal of training."  
  
I look back over to True.  
  
"She'll recover from this," Wilkes says. "And you will learn to live with your grief, instead of being ruled by it."  
  
Maybe it's the quiet of the moment or maybe it's because, whether I'd agreed to it or not, Wilkes knew what was going on in my head, but I say, "I've done it for so long. Sometimes it's like… I don't know how. Like if I lose it, I won't know myself anymore."  
  
"You don't have to lose your grief. Channel it. Grief for your brother makes you compassionate. You use your compassion when you handle True, who you love. And use your love for—"  
  
"I blew my chance with her," I say without thinking. I've done a lot of things today without thinking. One quick shake of my head is enough to drive the picture of Cassidy out of my mind, but my arm still tingles where the dream-Cassidy had placed her paw. "That's over."  
  
The last thing I expect to hear is Wilkes chuckling beside me. I can't decide if I like it more when he laughs or when he's quiet—both are disconcerting. "If there's one thing I learned while traveling with you all," Wilkes says, "it is that we cannot know everything for certain." He pauses to look at Jackson's tail flame, and my eyes follow him. "Look at me. I only asked to join you because I thought you would help me fulfill my selfish goal."  
  
My eyes narrow. "You don't want to anymore?"  
  
"I do," he says bluntly. "I welcome death. Someday you will die, and our Trainer will die... and with any luck, so shall I."  
  
"Seems morbid, even for a ghost-type," I mutter.  
  
"My fellow Gastly thought so, too. But many of them were young. Someday they will learn." He closes his eyes. "That all being said, I know that I have a place now, and a goal. To get True to the Pokémon League. I intend to fulfill that goal."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"Whatever will be, will be. I succumb to fate."  
  
My laugh is bitter. "What happened to taking control of our own destiny?"  
  
"I've never said such a thing," Wilkes chuckles. "I'd ask Britt about that."  
  
Wilkes doesn't say anything more. I don't either. The silence grows louder and louder until I finally have to turn away from the cold. True's hand is still on Jackson's neck when I slide back into her arms. They hold me tight, and I lean into the touch. Perhaps on instinct, perhaps by chance, Jackson leans closer to the two of us, so that I'm nearly sandwiched between the two warm bodies.  
  
I look up to see Wilkes hovering over my head. My eyes are getting heavy again, but there's one more thing that should be said. "I guess I should… thank you, or something?"  
  
But Wilkes shakes his head, disappearing into darkness. "Others can only help you so far in your life. In the end, you will have to thank yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Legendary bird time!
> 
> Some of you guys may remember the Snow Bird extra I wrote almost a year ago(!!) detailing Al's encounter with an Articuno. (Note to the curious: not the same Articuno.) I've always seen Articuno as being shier than its fellow legendary birds--at the same time though, it's known for guiding the lost out of snowy mountains and back to where they need to be. For Casey, that isn't just to True and the gang, but to a different outlook on battling: battling for survival and protection versus battling for competition. There's an interesting dichotomy between born-wild Pokemon and Pokemon who have been raised around humans, and this is something we'll be exploring this more in upcoming chapters, with it reaching a peak in the battle against Blaine. It's something I'm looking forward to, and I hope that you guys will be interested in reading!
> 
> I've been really on the ball with putting out chapters, and I hope to continue being on that ball. Here's to another update next Wednesday!


	59. Chapter Fifty-Five

It gets warmer the further we travel from the Seafoam Islands. The water gets clearer too, becomes greener. We see the tiny volcano rise in the distance way before we see the high palm trees and sandy shores of Cinnabar, teeming with beach activity. The closer we get to shore, the more trainers on surfing Pokémon we see—some wave from their seats on Tentacruel and Dewgong, but most ignore us for their pool games.  
  
Though Britt insists that she's fine, that she can make the distance from Seafoam Islands to Cinnabar, True decides to take Clara. It proves to be a faster ride. The sun has only just started reaching its zenith by the time we reach the island. We take a while to find the Cinnabar Pokémon Center—there are so many red roofs, so many false alarms—but it makes up for it with a quick and painless check-in. True hardly has to open her mouth before us Pokémon are whisked to the back for a quick heal. The others, as usual, are kept to their balls and scanned in; but even my usual prodding and poking seems to go faster than usual.  
  
Maybe it's the combination of the Hoenn Hyper Potion or the air or some residual adrenaline in my blood, but I'm feeling better now than I have in weeks. True, missing her backpack and her jacket, is filling out paperwork for a room when the Chansey guide us back to the front desk I jump into arms, she actually  _grunts_. "Pretty soon you'll have to warn me," she laughs. "You're getting tough."  
  
I roll my eyes but keep my smile.  
  
"Everyone looks happy and healthy," the sharp-boned nurse says, handing back the tray of Poké Balls. "Now I'll just get you your card key... would you like a few pamphlets? We're in high tourist season so there's plenty to do."  
  
True bites her lip in thought. "What would you recommend?"  
  
" _Well_ ," the nurse says. "Plenty of restaurants, of course, with some live entertainment. Art galleries, theatre—everyone should go see  _Beyond the Mountains_ , such an excellent score. And of course there's the gym, Blaine's opened up his stadium to the public, always excellent showings of talent... I'd take a tour myself, to go up toward the volcano. Rumor has it that Blaine himself trains up there sometimes."  
  
I recognize the spark in True's eye, and grin wider. "Sounds perfect."  
  
We quickly leave the sandy beaches and colorful buildings of the main part of town, exchange for an explosion of leafy trees, a plethora of tumbling waterfalls, the smell of freshly turned earth. It's a simple climb upward on Clara's back, above the tree line. Save for one huge mansion tucked between two sheets of rock, there is no sign of humanity, only tangled, tropical wilds.  
  
We fly up and up until finally True, seeing something that I don't, pushes Clara down to a descent.  
  
It's a beautiful clearing, wreathed with leafy fronds and thick undergrowth. A waterfall tumbles majestically into a small lake, glistening clear and clean. There aren't any other Pokémon here, though judging by the broken branches and the tracks near the rocky shore there must be some nearby. We land with a grunt and a laugh, tumble off of Clara's back. The others are released in bursts of white, and materialize with wide mouths already on their faces. Hyde, who seems dwarfed compared to the huge trees that ring around us, stomps enthusiastically at the sight. Britt's attention is drawn to the waterfalls that tumble down a nearby cliff into a small lake down the way.  
  
Only Wilkes seems indifferent, and turns to True with his hands laced together. "Did we come here for a vacation?"  
  
"Training," True says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "I'm going to try and, uh, circle around to each of you guys. And in the meantime, maybe partner up..."  
  
"I want to train with Britt!" Jackson shouts. "Or Clara!"  
  
"You can train with everyone," True says. "We'll rotate. I'll come do special training with everyone, but in the meantime, um. Just be safe, and try not to hurt yourselves too badly. Take breaks when you need to, and don't go too far off. M'kay?"  
  
I haven't seen True this confident since Silph Tower. Even Britt seems impressed as she gestures for Wilkes to follow her. Jackson and Clara exchange glances for all of five seconds before they spring into the air—he's improved, I can't help but think, as the two trade shrieks and barbs.  
  
True's hand brushes the top of my head as she walks over to Hyde. "I thought you and I would train together, since... well, I still don't really know you."  
  
Hyde looks down at me—far down, Arceus he's gotten so tall—with matching frowns on each of his faces. "Yeah. Yeah, that seems okay. Just, in the Safari Zone," he says, the same words all spoken from every mouth. It's a stereo affect, almost, and I hear the words in my mind as well as my ears. "We usually... you know, just beat each other up."  
  
True's rubbing her temple too, but there's a smile on her face. "We're gentle with each other. It'll be better for the wild Pokémon if we keep to ourselves and I'm... not really in the mood to battle other trainers for money."  
  
"'Cause we're scared?"  
  
Her eyes flit over to me for a heartbeat. She shakes her head. "Just… it's nice to be confident before battling. You know?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah!" the Exeggutor says, blinking in confirmation. "So tell me what I have to do."  
  
True slips her backpack off her shoulder and leans down. Even wrapped in two thick shirts, I can see Minka's urn. True's thumb brushes across the exposed lid before she pulls out the item she'd been seeking. The Clefairy doll, half my size and wearing an unsettling grin, had been a last minute purchase from a vendor just feet away from the Pokémon Center. True sits it down on the ground a few feet away from us, then turns to Hyde. "Remember when you used your Psychic to defeat those Golbat in the cave? Use it to pick up this doll. Can you do that?"  
  
The front-most face squeezes its eyes shut. From the corner of my eye I can see the doll floating midair, glowing a pale green. "Doll floating!"  
  
"Okay," True says, resting a hand on the thickest part of Hyde's trunk-like body. "Now we'll just move—open your eyes, Hyde, it's okay."  
  
They open, glowing. "'Kay. So move the doll around… like this?"  
  
The doll is taken through several exercises: up and down, side to side, figure-eights and hash marks. At one point Hyde guides the doll onto the top of his head and places it between blades of grass-like hair with a laugh. True's smiling too as she takes a few steps back, as though to admire the view of Hyde's newest passenger. "Looks like you have a friend."  
  
"I have lots of friends now," Hyde says simply, and plucks the doll from his head to True's arms.  
  
She answers with a small smile and cuddles the doll to her chest. I climb up to the top of her head—the better to see Hyde with—and meet three pairs of eyes. "Looks like you've gotten pretty used to evolution."  
  
"Well, I mean. I have legs. That's new. And hair. And I don't feel the need to say everything all the time, and  _that's_  nice, except I still don't know how to keep a secret..."  
  
The pounding in my head hurts less if I don't look directly at Hyde. My attention wanders instead to Britt blasting water from her cannons. The twin jets of water gather into one, before spreading out into a wave that only just misses Wilkes. Far above them, Clara and Jackson crash against each other, their talons and claws flashing in the sun and looking for all the world like enemies.  
  
My body tingles, and suddenly I'm levitating high in the air. Hyde is laughing and True's grinning. I feel weightless long before Hyde's released his grip on me and I fall right into True's waiting arms. Her hand comes to the back of my neck. "They're looking good, huh?"  
  
"Not too shabby, trainer," I say, and pat her sweaty forehead. "You're doing alright though?"  
  
"Yeah," she says softly, "just... I think it's finally hitting me. That I'm a trainer," she adds, when I don't immediately respond. "I know that sounds weird because we've been out here for months, but it's… we're going after our sixth badge and—"  
  
"She was really great in those caves," Hyde says. "Like, we came across this herd of angry blue things—Seadra? Seadra—and she was just totally, she said... what did you say, something like, 'If you let me through, I won't hurt you.' All she did was try to get to you, and when we found you, she just had you up on her—"  
  
"Hyde," True says. "Thanks, but... no."  
  
"That wasn't supposed to be a secret, was it? Because I said I couldn't keep them."  
  
She shakes her head. "It wasn't secret, but. Um, maybe we'll talk about it later?"  
  
"Go see if you can train with Britt and Wilkes for a bit," I say. "I'm sure she'd love getting to hit something."  
  
"She'd be much heavier than a Clefairy doll," Hyde says. The ground shakes under him as he walks toward the lake.  
  
True sighs, wipes her brow with her whole hand, as she plucks the abandoned doll off the ground. I don't push her to speak; she finally does when she sits off in the shade, gently placing the Clefairy doll inside the backpack. "I don't want to feel that powerless again, is all. And I feel like, if I could've just grabbed you before you went under... then we wouldn't have had to go through everything we did.  _You_  wouldn't."  
  
"That is not your fault," I say, and lean over her head. "Okay? We found each other. I'm okay. I even got to battle some."  
  
Her brow shoots up. "No wonder you were tired."  
  
"Exhausted, more like," I say, and look up just as Hyde gets swallowed up by Britt's wave. "But I saw... some Pokémon. Wilds, and they were so different from some of the other wilds I've met. I think it's because they don't have a lot of contact with humans. They were protecting themselves from trainers and their Pokémon. Us." If I close my eyes, I can still picture the blatant mistrust in the Dewgong's eyes. "I've never really thought of myself in that 'us' before."  
  
"Do you now?" she asks.  
  
I press my chin against her forehead. "More than before. And maybe... Maybe I could start training, too."  
  
True's hands wrap around me and pull me off her head, so that our eyes can meet. "That's really what you want?"  
  
"No, but." I close my eyes. "I thought I was going to... not make it out. I don't think I would've, if you hadn't found me."  
  
"But we did find you. And I don't want you to do something just... just because you feel like you have to."  
  
"I can't rely on just you," I say, and look up at her. True's eyes are glassy but she stares straight at me, straight-faced. "I remember in Cerulean, when we were doing that training... and Peter taught me how to use my Quick Attack as an avoidance tactic. I don't remember how to use it." Something to do with the feet. With jumping. "And maybe if I still knew how to do it, I wouldn't have been so bad when you'd found me."  
  
Maybe it'll be like remembering him.  
  
True's hug seems to last for hours. Her heartbeat is steady against my head, her hands soothing. "If this is something you need to do," she whispers, "I'm with you. No matter—"  
  
"THAT'S AS HIGH AS YOU GO!"  
  
Our eyes fly toward the lake. Britt's hovering, paws up, just inches from the water, shrieking and firing blasts of frothy water from her cannons. We don't have to look hard to find the culprit: a dancing Hyde, who yells out, "You're much heavier than the doll!"  
  
Britt's able to twist enough in Hyde's psychic hold to shoot a blast straight in his face; the second the attack connects, she drops back to the ground, landing in the water with a splash.  
  
True's already wading through the lake when Britt sputters back up, wild-eyed and snarling. True presses her hands against the side of Britt's head, murmuring something. My attention is focused more on Hyde, with all his faces sporting matching rounded mouths, frightened eyes.  
  
"She isn't mad, isn't she?" the Exeggutor asks.  
  
Another powerful blast serves as his answer. Hyde falls to the ground with a loud thud, his thick legs kicking the air uselessly.  
  
"Not anymore," Britt says, and wades out of the water.  
  
They've caused enough commotion to tear Jackson and Clara from their duel. Jackson, littered with shallow cuts from Clara's bloody talons, grabs hold of Hyde and pulls. Hyde's body starts to glow pale green. With Jackson's raw strength and Hyde's psychic abilities, the Exeggutor is back on his feet in minutes. Hyde shakes his leafy head and blinks his thanks to Jackson, who nods his head.  
  
Britt, who had stayed back from the commotion, now walks toward us. "You need to do that faster. If you can't get up in battle, that gives your opponent plenty of time to fuck with you."  
  
True's hand is back to her temple. "Britt, maybe if you were—"  
  
"She has a point," Jackson says, and shrugs.  
  
To my great surprise, Hyde is nodding too. "Yeah! And you have to be able to wiggle out of my attacks, 'cause I don't think you're fast enough to avoid them."  
  
Clara slaps her head against her wing.  
  
It's broken only by a chuckle from Britt. "Maybe before I could've. But you're right."  
  
"So maybe," True says, tentatively stepping between the two, "if we just keep doing that… Britt, maybe go deeper into the lake, Hyde can try and pull you out of the water. Maybe..."  
  
So the afternoon goes.  
  
Wilkes and Jackson move to take part in True's training, after the sun starts to set. I haven't done much besides coaching, but the chaos had gotten to be too much; now I rest beside Clara, who has found a bed of grass to nest in underneath the tall trees. Between the spaces of their bodies I see Britt spinning in her shell, deflecting Jackson's Flamethrower.  
  
Something sharp pokes my elbow. I turn to see dark blue eyes staring at me inquisitively.  
  
"You, uh, did good today?"  
  
She grunts and nods before looking back up to the sky. I follow her lead. The only clouds in the pinkening sky are wispy and white. At some point we'll have to head back to the Center. Unless the plan is to camp out here. Which is entirely possible, if True had brought enough food for us. And if that's the case—  
  
Clara plops her beak on the top of my head. She's heavier than I expected. I look up and sigh, stretching to pat my hand against the smooth, hard surface. "You ever think about everything we've lost?"  
  
There's a low grunt. I take it as a sign to continue. "Like I swear, I remember Peter telling me how to use Quick Attack. Back in Cerulean. You remember that, right? He did something with his feet, and just—pushed himself up, I guess, like he was flying. I've thought about it today and I just—"  
  
The weight lifts off my head. Clara pumps her wings, disturbing the grass around her, and takes off into the air. Her talon brushes gently against my forehead as she screeches and turns toward me, keeping herself just a few feet off the ground.  
  
I stand up, digging my toes into the loose dirt, and stare at her. "You just want me to rush you?"  
  
Clara cries, slashing the air with her beak.  
  
I race up to her, jumping off the ground with all my might. I go up a few feet before I start to fall, landing with a thud on my side.  
  
Clara caws again, and I'm reminded of Articuno.  
  
That had been a huge drop. This was only a few feet. I don't even feel much pain on my side, just a little twinge. My feet are steady when I push myself up to the ground, they dig in as I jump up, sailing farther than before. One beat of Clara's wings brings her out of range—I'm inches away from touching her tail feathers before I fall back down again on my two front paws. I fall on my face.  
  
"That's what you call sticking a landing?"  
  
Britt's voice, sharp and satisfied, brings my head up. The whole group has moved inland from the lake, each staring at me: Jackson and Wilkes with interest, Hyde with surprise, Britt with stoic thought. True's eyes are the ones I focus on most, round and wide with shock—the second they meet mine that shock melts to something else.  
  
Pride.  
  
For  _me._  
  
It's there when I fall another three times. It's even there when Clara—taking pity on me, probably—allows my paw to brush against her lowered foot. My legs are sore and I'm panting hard from exertion and the hot Cinnabar sun, but this reminds me of Cerulean in the best ways, and when I turn back to True she's still looking at me with that look on her face.  
  
 _O-One more time,_  a voice tells me, so familiar that I have to smile.  
  
Clara lets herself sink one more time, bucking her head challengingly.  
  
I push up with all my might—  
  
And, after a few inches of height, fall on my face again.  
  
I have only seconds to reflect on my utter failure before True has scooped me up in her arms; one hand massages my side, loosening the tightened muscles, as the other one brushes the top of my head. Clara finally lands with a thud, prodding me gently with the tip of her beak. I sigh and look up at both of them with a shrug. "Maybe next time."  
  
"You just started again," True says, and nuzzles into the crook of my neck. "You earned your dinner tonight."  
  
Britt scoffs. "Implying that if he sucks, he won't get any?"  
  
Maybe I am getting better: Britt actually shuts up when I flash a dirty glare at her.  
  
"When  _is_  dinner?" Jackson asks.  
  
My stomach is light from hunger, too. True shifts me to the crook of one arm as she surveys the assembled team. We're dripping wet or dirty or littered with tiny cuts, but there are matching faces of satisfaction on everyone. Even True wears one as she laughs. "As soon as we get back to the Center. Everyone up."  
  
Hyde, Britt, and Wilkes disappear in flashes of red, leaving Jackson, Clara, and me outside with True. "And you're both okay with flying?"  
  
Clara teases the curling ends of True's hair as Jackson snorts. "It'll feel good. And I need to get better at flying."  
  
So we climb onto Clara and take off. True and I hide from most of the sun's glare by tucking into Clara's body, eyes meeting. She makes faces between flaps of Clara's wings, sending us both into laughter. Jackson, oblivious to our antics, does somersaults in the air and shouts words to Clara between bursts of skyward-bound flame. She shrieks encouragements with sharp piercing cries that are swallowed by the trees that run just feet below us.  
  
Cinnabar sprawls below us. More people seem to have come out in the almost nighttime, swishing their thin skirts and tipping their straw hats to one another. Between brightly-colored buildings lit by lamps and torches I see couples linked arm in arm, watch strangers pull their neighbors into dancing to the band that performs in the streets.  
  
Their laughter rings in my ears as we touch down in front of the Pokémon Center. The pavilion here seems empty compared to the throbbing streets: most of the activity comes from trainers walking in and out of the building. Jackson stretches his wings and yawns as True and I slide off of Clara.  
  
True rolls her shoulders and looks around, hands behind her head. "I'm thinking something big, you guys did so good today."  
  
Clara nods vigorously as Jackson looks around the pavilion.  
  
"So maybe," True says, "we'll get one of those pamphlets from the room? I can just run in and see—"  
  
"Hey," Jackson suddenly says. "Don't we know that bird?"  
  
Just moments ago we'd been laughing; now my shoulders bristle, Jackson's eyes are narrowed, Clara is growling. True and I turn as one to see a Dodrio standing underneath a lamp post. One head alerts the other two to our presence—even from here I can hear them squabbling with each other.  
  
"There's no way," I breathe.  
  
But as the Dodrio approaches, it becomes very clear that we  _do_  know this bird.  
  
"Master kept telling us, and she was right!"  
  
"What would've happened if she'd been in Saffron, though?"  
  
"But she  _isn't_ , she's right here! See!"  
  
The words echo around us. Clara and Jackson flank True's side as Ripper approaches. The Dodrio comes to a stop just inches in front of us, a trio of beaks snapping shut with one click. "Master wants you to join us for dinner."  
  
"No entrails," the saddest head bemoans.  
  
"But good food for humans. Which you are. So join us."  
  
In a few short seconds, True's face had gone from shock to uncertainty. "How long have you been watching for me?"  
  
"Two days," says Ripper's Happy Head. "I think."  
  
Now, red-flushed and frowning, it is the picture of anger. "You've been here for two  _days?_ "  
  
Ripper's frowning Sad Head leans up to Jackson. "This  _is_  True Fargone, right?"  
  
Silent stares are traded. Clara disappears in a flash of red, but Jackson remains at our side, his clawed paw heavy on True's left shoulder. I'm on her right, trying to keep myself from bristling.  
  
"Take me to my grandmother," she says.


	60. Chapter Fifty-Six

"Do you have a reservation, miss?"  
  
Everything in the restaurant is huge: the sign out front, the cushiony chairs for waiting patrons, the ornate paintings on the walls. Even the sign that greets us as we walk in is huge, with a blatant list of things  _not allowed_ : only one Pokémon allowed, with none over three feet tall, no weapons, cash or check only.  
  
I keep finding myself distracted by what goes on behind the front desk. Waiters pass ghost-like through the dining hall, carrying huge plates heavy with food: pies, Tauros ribs, fancy burgers, soups, and something on _fire_. The diners chat among themselves with glasses of wine in their heavily jeweled hands, wearing glittering gowns and well-fitted suits. Even the few Pokémon—designer bred Eevees and Growlithes, Vulpix, even a Pikachu—that I see have been gussied up and wear satisfied smirks on their faces.  
  
Compared to this glitz and glamour, we look like hoodlums. The tops of True's shoulders are a dusky pink, and her face is flushed from the climb from the Pokémon Center. The long hike had done nothing for True's anger—if anything, it had only encouraged it.  
  
"Tess Fargone sent for me," she says. "I won't be here for long, I just—"  
  
"Ah, yes. That… Dodrio must have…" He peers out the windows to see Ripper tapping all three of his beaks against the glass. "Yes. Very well."  
  
The man at the front weaves effortlessly through the throng of patrons. We draw eyes from the diners, some of whom pause mid-bite to glance at us. I don't realize I'm cleaning myself until my paw comes back to my tongue for the second time. True doesn't even bother, keeping her eyes straight on our guide's shoulders.  
  
He stops at a red curtain, slightly pulls on the golden tassels to clear a path for us. "She'll be right through here, Miss Fargone."  
  
True takes a deep breath and nods. "Thank you."  
  
I have to squint my eyes: the electric lighting has been replaced with soft candlelight. Though decorated with muted paintings and plants, the dominating feature by far is the large booth on the far side of the room. Small plates of artistically-decorated salads and pastas take most of the room. Tess Fargone sits precisely in the middle of the booth, her copper hair curled in tiny ringlets that hides the bonier planes of her face. She finishes her bite of some sort of creamy pasta and glances up with a soft sound.  
  
"Oh, good. I was worried I'd have to walk through town again. Sit."  
  
Part of me wants True to rebel against her grandmother. She does, if only just; True sits on the very edge of the booth, half inside and half out, careful not to disturb any of the dishes. Tess takes one plate and a fork and sets it in front of her. "Help yourself if you'd like."  
  
Though True's eyes flicker once to a red sauce dish, she turns away to face the other woman. "You're going to eat all of this?"  
  
"I take home whatever I don't eat for Ripper," she says, as if everyone orders copious amounts of food and leaves the leftovers for their Pokémon. "Hunting is all well and good, but the laws here are much stricter than they are in Celadon. More 'protected species.'" She scoffs. "As if anyone cares about Magmar."  
  
Don't roll your eyes. Don't object.  
  
"But that's neither here or there," Tess says, daintily stabbing a bit of salad. "I saw your match the other day against Koga. I wanted to congratulate you."  
  
Wait. What?  
  
True's eyebrows almost disappear into her scalp. "Wh—really?"  
  
"Well I didn't think you'd make it at first. What with the attack from the Scyther and everything."  
  
Disappointment shouldn't feel this sharp.  
  
"Nearly lost before you'd even begun, hm? And this one," she says, waving her fork in my direction, "flying out of control like that. You're lucky you had that Fearow. I liked her. Doesn't talk, right?"  
  
True's hands grip her knees. Her knuckles are white against her flushed skin. "That's not what I'm here to talk about."  
  
"I suppose not. To be honest, I didn't expect you to answer my invitation so quickly. I was expecting Ripper to wait there at least a week—"  
  
"You would've kept him out there in the heat?"  
  
"He doesn't mind it, he loves working for me."  
  
"What would've happened if I'd gone to Saffron instead? He would've just waited there? While you, what, sit here eating your expensive food, and he has to be okay with scraps? I don't even  _like_  Ripper and I think that's horrible!"  
  
Tess sets her fork down and places her clenched hands on the table in front of her. "This is why you agreed to meet with me?"  
  
"I should report you for cruelty," True hisses. "Leaving him out there in the sun like that, it's horrible."  
  
"He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself."  
  
"And if something happened to him? You'd get yourself another pet?"  
  
"You can't have come all this way to berate me about how I raise my Pokémon. What did you come here for?"  
  
True has no answer for this.  
  
"Hm. And here I thought you'd grown yourself a spine since the last time we saw each other."  
  
True slams her hands on the table. Plates shake, my heart jumps. Bits of hair have fallen in her eyes; she swipes them back with a swift flick of her hand as she shifts her way fully into the booth. "And what have you been doing?"  
  
If Tess is startled by her granddaughter's outburst, she doesn't show it; she even takes another sip of her wine, as though True had simply proposed a business transaction. "Taken to some miserable bunker in the middle of nowhere. 'For my own protection.' Ripper was plenty of protection. If it had just been the Celadon police I would've been just fine, but then those pesky League officials got involved."  
  
"And you were released?"  
  
"I'm a businesswoman, not a criminal. They considered it safe to relocate me after Team Rocket fell. Which, if my sources are correct,  _you_  had a part to play in."  
  
True's left eye is twitching. I press against her as she answers, "I did."  
  
"Hmm," she says, and takes another sip of a dark red wine. "Congratulations are in order then, I assume."  
  
"I'm not looking for any."  
  
"How modest. Did you do it for the good of the country? For your family?"  
  
True lifts her head higher. "I did it because it was the right thing to do."  
  
Tess Fargone smiles as she pours another glass of wine. "You are your father's daughter after all."  
  
No sound comes from my open mouth. I look up at True, whose eyes have grown and have started to glisten. "Leave him out of this."  
  
"He's haunting you."  
  
"My... He—"  
  
"Gave information to that foolish child of a Champion in the hopes of protecting whomever he could," Tess says, green eyes flashing. "Wasn't much since he was only a lower admin, and his information was five years outdated. But I'm assuming, since you're here and Team Rocket isn't, that they had some use for it."  
  
The silence grows thick and heavy around us. True finally bows her head, teeth gritted, clenched hands trembling. "How do you know all this?"  
  
"I spoke with him on the phone just last night. He seems to be doing well."  
  
Two huge rocks settle low in my stomach.  
  
"Richie's made some stupid decisions in his life. Joining Team Rocket may or may not have been one of them. But he did it for you, and you should be—"  
  
"Grateful?" True asks. "That he was involved with… no. That he helped to lead it. That he stole Pokémon and, and did all those things? Never."  
  
Tess pulls back with a sigh, shaking her head. "That's a talk you need to have with him. Not with me."  
  
There are too many dishes in the way for me to get onto the table, to massage True's hands out of their curled fists. I press up against her arm and keep my eyes on her. She hasn't moved.  
  
"If that's all," Tess says. "Was there anything else you want to get off your chest?"  
  
True breathes a long, shaky sigh before sliding out of the booth. "Don't invite me to dinners, or your house. Don't make Ripper wait in the sun and the rain for me. Go back to Celadon or stay here in Cinnabar and just…"  
  
There's a bitter twist to Tess Fargone's smile as she looks up. "See how easy it is to get the things you want, when you speak up for yourself?"  
  
"Don't talk to me. Anymore."  
  
Tess only takes a sip of her wine in response, and turns back to her pasta.  
  
A man is waiting for us when we slip out of the curtain. Did Tess have everyone waiting on her? "You weren't there for very long. Will that be all, miss?"  
  
"That will be all," True says. "I'd just... I need to leave."  
  
The tuxedo-clad man leads us out of the restaurant with hardly a word, and bids us farewell with a slight bow before turning to two sharply-dressed men. True's knees knock against each other as she walks, and walks, and walks, past a street teeming with drunk teenagers and bushy-mustached men smoking cigars and into a small park. Light illuminates the small fountain that bubbles up water from a Dragonair's open mouth; it's quiet, save for the low murmuring of a kissing couple on the other side of the fountain and the swaying of trees in the wind.  
  
True's gasping sobs are the only invitation I need to curl into her chest. One of her trembling hands finds Jackson's Poké Ball, which releases the Charizard in a flash of white. He needs only seconds to assess the situation before he settles down beside True, wrapping her in one his huge wings. From the corner of my eye I see the two lovers sneak off into the bushes.  
  
She curls into the solid warmth and fumbles for me, digging her short nails into my scruff. "It was a—it was a bad idea—"  
  
"Breathe," I say softly, fighting through the pain. "Breathe. Nice and easy, now."  
  
"Will she be," Jackson starts to say, until he meets my eyes.  
  
I turn back to True, who has folded herself deeper in Jackson's embrace. "She'll be fine. We're fine, aren't we? And we don't have to see her again."  
  
She barks a laugh. "I can't make her do anything she does—doesn't want."  
  
"Then we'll protect you," Jackson says simply.  
  
"Apparently she doesn't  _need_  protection," True spits. "Apparently everything's fine if she says it is. She's such a... I can't believe I'm  _related_  to her..."  
  
It takes a while for her to calm down. I'm used to soothing her fears, not her anger; the latter takes longer to burn out. But when she's finally gotten past the worst of it, she's more drained. I hum a lullaby as Jackson sways back and forth. True's eyelids start to fall and her head droops. There's a difference between calming her down and putting her to sleep, but we're all exhausted from training and this ordeal. With the adrenaline wearing off, my own eyes are getting heavier and heavier.  
  
Maybe a nap wouldn't be such a bad idea...  
  
"Is everything alright here?"  
  
No nap. I jump at the man's voice, and peek out of Jackson's wing. The old man in a bright red jogger's suit leans toward us, his bushy eyebrows peeking out over gold-framed sunglasses. The Rapidash at his side stands stoically, dark eyes catching the light from the fiery mane.  
  
"I was jogging with Apollo and I saw you with your Charizard. Was going to ask you a few questions, but…" He trails off as True, blotchy-cheeked and watery-eyed, untangles herself from Jackson. "It seems as though I've picked a bad time."  
  
She's alert, at least. True wipes her nose on the back of her hand as she stands up, eyes unabashedly red. "No. No, it's fine."  
  
"Doesn't look fine to me," the stranger says, his smile gentle. "Would you object to some company?"  
  
The Rapidash beside him shakes his head. "Leave them be."  
  
True's brow furrows. "I mean... I wouldn't, but you just look... familiar. Aren't you—"  
  
" _Shhh_." The old man looks around the empty pavilion; satisfied, he adjusts his glasses. "Yes. I'm Blaine, leader of the Cinnabar Gym. Though by night, I like to be a simple jogger."  
  
"Oh. Um... that's nice," True says.  
  
"Every once in a while you need to get out in about without being harassed. Y'know what I mean?"  
  
Very hesitantly, True nods. "But, um, sir. You said you wanted to ask about… Jackson?"  
  
"Jackson—this Charizard, yes?" Blaine bows his head low at a very confused Jackson. "Yes, I did. He's magnificent."  
  
True and Jackson share a bewildered look before turning back to Blaine. "Uh… thanks?"  
  
"I've only seen a few like him in my lifetime. But they all come from far away, northwest of Cerulean."  
  
"Cerulean's where we met Minka," Jackson says. He turns to True inquisitively. "Right?"  
  
"Mhm. And just north of the city is where we found you for the first time."  
  
"Found?" Blaine asks sharply. "Does that—This isn't your Starter Pokémon?"  
  
"That'd be me," I say, lifting my paw.  
  
True narrows her eyes. "Why do you want to know?"  
  
"It isn't every day you see a Mt. Silver Charizard," Blaine says. "Charizard in general are rare, but they're almost extinct in the wild. Poaching, mostly. There's only one wild Clan that we know of in the Kanto-Johto region, and that's the one far in the northern parts of the Tohjo mountain range. The curled horns, the ruddier color... the shape of the snout… Yes."  
  
Jackson steps forward and rises to his full height. "You say you know where I come from."  
  
"You'll have to translate for me, dearie," Blaine says to True. "Love Pokémon, but never quite got the hang of the language, you know?"  
  
True's eyes narrow. "But you're a gym leader."  
  
"You don't have to be fluent in Pokémon to be a gym leader."  
  
She opens her mouth to speak, but I brush my paw against her chin. Some of the fire is back in her eyes. I shake my head. "Don't test him. And I don't think he's going to hurt us."  
  
"He won't," Apollo says.  
  
"What Apollo said," Blaine says.  
  
True sighs and looks back up at Blaine. "How do you know about these Charizard? And what makes you think Jackson's one of them?"  
  
"Well, I spent time as a graduate student tracking down the wild Clan. This was years ago now, of course, but you could say I'm an expert. Published papers and everything."  
  
Jackson lunges forward, gripping Blaine by the shoulders. Apollo whinnies and bucks his head and True shouts, but Blaine hardly flinches. He faces Jackson and stands tall, but doesn't meet his eyes. Display of submission? I can't tell, but Jackson seems just as surprised.  
  
"Jackson—"  
  
"It's alright, dear," Blaine says. "He isn't hurting me."  
  
Still, I can see Jackson loosen his grip. "If you know all this, you have to help me," Jackson says. "My mother, she came down the mountain with me. She got attacked. You have to help me find her."  
  
True presses a hand on Jackson's arm. "Jackson, just… just because Blaine knows your Clan, that doesn't... Your mother—"  
  
She stops, though, at Blaine's laughter. We all turn to see the Cinnabar gym leader bow his head and succumb to good-natured giggles. "Moltres has blessed me. Now ordinarily I wouldn't be able to help you," Blaine says. "But I think I know someone who might shed some light on all this."  
  


* * *

  
As per Blaine's instructions, we get up bright and early at four the next morning. The main city is still snoozing in the dark hours of pre-dawn, so we're seen only by a few wild Vulpix and custodians. Jackson follows behind us, breathing heavily despite the easy walk until True takes his clawed paw in her hand.  
  
"You've been waiting for this a while, huh?" she asks.  
  
Jackson nods. "I wanted to get strong to find her. And I wanted to make sure she wasn't… you know."  
  
We do.  
  
Blaine's alone when we meet him by one of the hiking trails that go up toward the mountain, shouldering a pink backpack that clashes against his red jogging suit. "Nice day for a hike, isn't it? Let's get started."  
  
It's one thing to climb on the back of Clara—it's a whole other monster to climb on foot, through winding trails and thick undergrowth. We soldier on in the dark with only puffs of flame and Jackson's tail light to guide us, occasionally pausing to drink from the canteens that Blaine had the foresight to bring.  
  
"I remember seeing that battle," Blaine says on one of our stops. "With Koga. Was just on a day or two ago, right?"  
  
True bows her head. "I haven't seen it. But it… I didn't feel like it was my best battle."  
  
Blaine bends down to refill his canteen in one of the small streams that ribbon through, readying the purifying solution. "Not all battles will be great. You were smart for keeping Jackson out of the line of fire."  
  
"I could've done it," Jackson grumbles, itching the thin scar across his chest.  
  
"He'd already been hurt," True murmurs, tilting her canteen up from the water. "I didn't want him to… I'd already…"  
  
Blaine nods and straightens himself, fluffing out the collar on his jogging suit. "Whatever happened, happened. Now you go after your next goal. Put the past behind you." He adds three drops to the water and screws the lid on his canteen tight. "I mean, learn from it, but don't let it overwhelm you. You get what I'm saying?"  
  
True nods hesitantly, even smiles. "Yeah."  
  
The trip is easier after that. Maybe it's because we've gotten used to the climb, but it's probably because Blaine doesn't seem like such a stranger. Jackson huffs and puffs ahead of us, his wings drooping—but every time True offers to put him back in his ball, he refuses. I think it's pure adrenaline that's keeping him going at this point.  
  
It's something I can understand.  
  
"Just through here," Blaine says, and pushes back a few leafy fronds. A tunnel dips down into darkness, all smooth dark stone. If it hadn't been for Blaine, I don't think we ever would have found it.  
  
Jackson surges forward and leads the charge.  
  
It's just a cave. Just a cave.  
  
True meets my eyes. I nod, and together we slip into darkness.  
  
I'm expecting it to be hot inside the cave, but it isn't—the only heat right now comes from our bodies and Jackson's puffs of fire. Blaine weaves through as though he's done this all his life, feeling subtle changes in the stone wall to point out the path. We're all too tired for conversation—any attempts the older man makes die with our pants—and continue to walk on. I lose track of time until finally,  _finally_ , we see the light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
We all rush forward with disbelieving laughs, following Blaine. He's only broken a tiny sweat that glistens in the warm light. He turns to us with a smile and gestures forward. "My training ground."  
  
We might have stepped on another island and never known. We must have been climbing for hours: the sun is only just starting to poke up behind the volcano. There's only a smattering of greenery out here compared to the thick tropical forest we'd left behind: black folds of hardened lava take up most of the ground, tumbling off past cliffs that jut out into the ocean. A few trees ring the clearing, feet away from the huge dark swath of ground.  
  
Pokémon fight on the cooled lava as if this is something everyone does every day. Two Magmar batter each other with fiery fists. Liquidy copies of Ninetales blur into one shining gold specimen, who proudly lifts a fluffy head and barks upon seeing us.  
  
"You don't typically get boats or surfers this time of day," Blaine explains as he leads us down to the fighters. "So no distractions from aspiring trainers or tourists. Now most of these guys—watch your step—come with me for gym battles, but some of them, y'see, are the city's volcano patrol."  
  
True turns back to the volcano that looms behind us, dark and gently rising. "Volcano patrol…?"  
  
"Keeps an eye out on lava levels, possible eruptions. They break off pieces so that the lava can siphon off past the cliffs. Keep the town and local Pokémon safe from a major disaster, know what I mean?"  
  
"That's… incredible," True breathes. "That—wow."  
  
A spindly wisp of a Ponyta trots beside us, nudging Blaine's hand with a pale muzzle. He looks down at the tiny thing with a smile, brushing the bridge of the long nose. "Lookin' good today, girl. You seen any sign of Zhuyin this morning?"  
  
The Ponyta shakes her flaming head, but looks up into the sky. "She should be comin' out of the 'cano."  
  
"Hm?" Blaine follows her eyes and smiles. "Ahh, the volcano. Should be any minute now. Thanks, Vesta."  
  
I narrow my eyes at Blaine, who's already scratching behind one of the Ponyta's twitching ears. But the cream horse's eyes have moved to us, fixating on True's hesitant smile. "You brought friends!"  
  
"Or battlers," a low voice rumbles behind us.  
  
I feel True tense as she grabs for me, already adjusting me on her chest so my back is facing outward. But I turn around to look at the Arcanine who saunters beside Blaine, creamy fur matted with bits of rock and twigs. Sharp white teeth flash between black lips that curl into a lackadaisy smile, but there's a hard light in his orange eyes. There always is.  
  
"They're here to talk to Zhuyin. Kid, meet Hyperion, my first Pokémon and one of my best battlers."  
  
If I turn away, I leave my back exposed.  
  
Hyperion laughs, a sharp sound that makes my spine bristle. "You even sure she'll be wanting to talk to them? Even with a look-alike?"  
  
If I keep looking at him, I'll see my brother's killer.  
  
If I—  
  
A loud roar shatters the silence. My eyes bolt around the clearing—another Arcanine? Some other monster?—only to see that every head is lifted skyward. I look up to see a dark shape darts out from the volcano's mouth, or close enough to it, spiraling up and up before heading straight to us. I hear Jackson rumble as he opens his wings, hear True's surprised intake of breath.  
  
"You still remember how to use Protect?" Blaine asks.  
  
White-hot columns of flame burst in a brightening sky.  
  
"Protect?!" True shouts. "Why would he—"  
  
Hyperion only steps closer to us, his fur glimmering green, as the shape barrels toward us. One ear-shattering roar is the only warning we get before a jet of flame erupts, flying straight in our direction—it hits the green-tinted dome that suddenly explodes around the five of us, deflecting the brunt of the Flamethrower. But I still feel the heat and Hyperion's mane is itching my nose, he's so close, and I can't—  
  
Help but focus on Jackson darting straight at the dark shape, answering with a roar and a Flamethrower of his own.  
  
We hear Zhuyin's snarls even down on the ground. She darts back and forth past Jackson,  _through_  him, the light from their tail flames catching on the narrowed tips of her wings.  
  
True's ball inches for her belt—and Blaine immediately puts a wrinkled hand on hers. "No. You interfere, it'll mean bad business for all of us."  
  
Jackson's glowing talons spark white as he draws them over Zhuyin. He must hit his mark, because she shrieks, flying up and away from Jackson. Something hits True right on her forehead; when she puts a hand to it and brings it back down, it's red.  
  
First blood.  
  
This close, Hyperion's Fire Blast is enough to turn the hairs on my arm black. I'm not burned but I bring it back as though I am, and retreat further into True's embrace. The five-pronged blast of fire dissipates into the sky, just feet away from the dueling Charizard. If it's an attack it's a horrible one—but when Zhuyin answers with a column of flame herself and dives, I can't help but wonder if it's a message.  
  
Zhuyin flies straight down, until she crashes right on Jackson's back. They tumble as they fall and crash into the ground forty feet away from us, throwing up chunks of rock. Blaine's battlers had long since stopped their sparring to watch the aerial match—now they crowd around the struggling Charizard, obstructing our view.  
  
"Back!" Blaine yells, as he races down. True is only inches behind him, moving as quickly as she can with me in her arms. But I jump out of them and rush through spindly limbs, straight into the smoking crater.  
  
He can't be dead  _he can't..._  
  
Zhuyin has her feet right on the base of Jackson's wings, pinning him to the ground. He struggles weakly, but he's moving, he's  _alive_ , and I'm crying from fear even before Hyperion the Arcanine saunters through the mob and to our side. "If it helps," I hear him say, "no one's been able to beat her."  
  
I whip around to face him, and take pleasure in the surprise on his face. "It doesn't."  
  
Zhuyin has already moved off of Jackson. He groans as he pushes himself up, rubbing the base of his neck gingerly. True rushes forward to take his head in her hands, rubbing the hard crests above his eye with trembling thumbs. Her whole body is trembling. "Are you okay?"  
  
"'M fine," he pants, and shakily stands up. His wings droop slightly at his sides, but his eyes are fierce and proud as he looks over to Zhuyin, who's peering curiously at Jackson, as though she's just seeing him for the first time. The brightening light shows off the curled horns, the sharp planes of her face, her orange-red body, but more than anything they show off her scars: thin pale ones on her arms, large dark splotches from burns that had long since healed. Her icy blue eyes are fierce under her furrowed brow, wisps of flame escaping from her open mouth.  
  
Blaine keeps his distance, but fingers an Ultra Ball. "I found her a few months ago up around the old Power Plant. She'd been injured pretty badly and still hasn't gotten to full strength yet. But we're working on that."  
  
Dangerous, wild. Lava shooting from a volcano. Out of control.  
  
"Too bad that battle wasn't—"  
  
He doesn't get a chance to finish. Jackson shoots forward to the other, larger Charizard, catching her paws in his own. He doesn't flinch from the column of flame that she breathes straight in his face, lets it wash over him like it's nothing. Blackened with soot and wincing, Jackson stares straight into her eyes, the flame on his tail burning white-hot.  
  
"Listen. If you're from the Clan, you know my mother," says Jackson. "You knew Tana."  
  
Zhuyin growls, widens her eyes. "Who are you?" she asks, her voice gravelly and raw, lava surging underground. "You're with this Human? Are you Tamed?"  
  
The rust-colored Charizard could have been any of those Seafoam Island Pokémon. All Wild, all distrustful of anything human. Including the Pokémon who work with them.  
  
"I'm a warrior," Jackson growls. "And I'm Tana's son."  
  
Zhuyin snarls and bucks back, but Jackson's grip keeps her still. "She was lost moons ago. You're lying."  
  
"I fought and fought and fought, and now I'm looking for her. I'll keep looking for her. She's looking for me, I _know_  it," Jackson breathes, coughing out black clouds. "She's my mother and I'm her son—"  
  
And with a roar, Zhuyin shoves him to the ground. Jackson looks up in blank surprise as the other Charizard opens her wings. Her eyes tighten as she curls her lip.  
  
"You are not my son," she hisses, and takes off.


	61. Chapter Fifty-Seven

It all happens so quickly: Zhuyin retreating back to the volcano, Blaine demanding an explanation, our refusal to give him one. In one fell swoop True has recalled Jackson and climbed up onto Clara, leaving Blaine and his Pokémon on the lava-ruined ground below us. It's a fast trip to the Pokémon Center, a quick check-in—by the time we settle in the couch closest to the waiting room doors, intent on a long stay, the sun has fully risen out of the ocean.  
  
I'm not used to staying out here, waiting restlessly for news on a teammate. It's torture. True had moved only to use the bathroom and to grab something sweet from the vending machines; now, an hour later, she has her head in her hands, bowed low to the floor. Clara sits beside her on the ground, cautiously looking at the other trainers inside the Center. I'm right by True's side, kneading my paws against her thigh.  
  
The television on the wall broadcasts local news. They've muted the sound but provide closed captions:  _Devon Corporation sends second shipment of healing supplies… Nidoking saves trainer during collapse in Rock Tunnel… Viridian Gym only accepting trainers with seven badges…_  
  
"We shouldn't have gone with him," True sighs, stirring me out of my thoughts. "Or Gramma."  
  
"There isn't anything we can do about it now," I say. "Just have to wait."  
  
True turns her head back to the doors, as if a nurse or a Chansey will come flying through with good news any moment. No one comes; as far as I can tell, there isn't even anyone close to the doors. "He just wanted to find his mother," True whimpers. "That's all he wanted when we found him. Now he's hurt and he's been… And it's all my fault."  
  
Though Clara shakes her head vehemently, True doesn't respond until I jump onto her shoulder. "None of this is your fault," I say. "No one knows what could have happened—"  
  
"Did you know about the Charizard population?" she asks.  
  
I'd read a few of Blaine's papers; Oak had had copies of them tucked away in the thousands of thick research tomes. "That doesn't mean I ever met one, or ever expected something like this to happen."  
  
"She hated him because he was with me," True whispers. "She's so distrustful toward humans that her own  _son_ … she'd hurt him like it was nothing."  
  
"Did any of us go thinking that we'd actually  _meet_  her?"  
  
True closes her eyes. "I thought we'd found out she was dead. But this is almost worse."  
  
There's no almost about it. I still can't quite shake the sight of Jackson lying in a crater on the ground, of him being effortlessly tossed aside like he was nothing. I'd seen him go up against Surge's Raichu, Erika's Vileplume, a blitz of Pokémon controlled by Rocket grunts. There was no way he could defeat every opponent that came his way, but to see him so quickly beaten...  
  
"Sometimes I wonder," True murmurs, "what would have happened if we hadn't found him."  
  
Lifetimes had passed between our first visit to Cerulean and now. I hadn't even been there when True had found Jackson. I wouldn't have found them at all if it hadn't been for a random stroke of luck. There had been a Rocket, and True had fought him off, or had tried to. Misty had come in with her Staryu and Starmie. Then we'd taken Jackson back with us.  
  
Clara's soft warbling pulls me out of the memory. She tugs on a lock of True's hair, teasing strands between her beak; True pulls back with a wince but leans forward to trail her fingers down Clara's beak. I take the opportunity to jump onto True's other shoulder. "If that man had gotten him," I say, "he would've been a weapon. If no one had found him… he probably would be dead."  
  
True screws her eyes shut with a shuddering sigh, shakes her head at the thought. "I still don't understand why she'd do that. He's her  _child_ ," she whispers. "Parents shouldn't... parents don't—"  
  
I shouldn't be grateful for the doors suddenly opening. True disengages from the conversation to whip her head toward the two approaching figures. Jackson slinks into the lobby with his head down, as though not standing at his full height will distract us by the dark goggles that cover his eyes. The pink-haired nurse beside him guides him gently with her hand on his shoulder, searching until True stands up from the couch. She meets us with a wary frown. "There was some smoke damage to his eyes," the woman says. "Nothing too major, but I'm going to suggest that you leave these on for the next day or two just to give his eyes a break. The less training he can do for the next bit, the better."  
  
Clara hesitantly approaches, announcing her presence with a very soft cry. Jackson turns his head at the sound, grunting something low. The two Pokémon butt heads as True, lips quivering, asks, "But he's fine other than that?"  
  
The other woman hesitates, biting a lip. "Physically, yes," the nurse says.  
  
That's answer enough, paired with Jackson's sullen expression and his drooping wings. True rubs her hand against the side of the Charizard's head, speaking softly. "Do you want in your ball for a little bit?"  
  
He shakes his head wordlessly. Clara tilts her head, brow furrowed.  
  
I turn away to look at the nurse, who's staring at the scene with soft eyes. "How well can he see?"  
  
"Walking slowly, pretty well. Not enough to be able to fight the way he's used to." Her expression softens. "This might be a good chance to explore the city. There're supposed to be some fantastic concerts on the eastern beach this week, if you'd like a pamphlet…?"  
  
There's one up in our room, beside the thick binder of tourist attractions on the island. True shakes her head and thanks the nurse, who nods and travels back through the swinging doors. When she leaves, True brushes her thumb against the hard line of Jackson's jaw. "Does that sound like something you'd want to do?" True asks gently. "Go listen to some music?"  
  
He doesn't answer.  
  
There's panic in Clara's wide eyes, fear in True's. I grit my teeth and scramble onto True's head. Even behind the black shades, there's no life in Jackson's eyes. I press a paw against the bridge of Jackson's nose; he looks up at me dimly, with a slight curl to his mouth.  
  
"Just nod yes or no. You want to eat?"  
  
Shake.  
  
"Sleep?"  
  
He doesn't answer right away. I stare at him until, after what seems like hours, he nods.  
  
"We could all do with some sleep," I say softly.  
  
True doesn't need any prompting. She guides Jackson by the hand up the stairs and to our bedroom. There's only room for one large Pokémon and True, so Clara goes back inside her ball. True is able to shift the bed a few inches to give Jackson a little more room to spread out, but even then it's a tight fit. With a bit of repositioning he's able to rest his head on the bedside, just in reach of True's scratches. The goggles cover up his favorite spot, just behind his eye ridges—her fingers travel to the base of his horns, instead. In this way, they both fall quickly to sleep.  
  
I have enough adrenaline in my system to keep me up for weeks.  
  
This room in Cinnabar could easily be True's bedroom in Pallet; she could easily be the one I watch carefully for the next few hours, not Jackson. Rejection from a mother isn't really so different than discovering a father may not be the man he had led everyone, including his family, to believe he was. Inza could walk through the door at any moment with a fresh bowl of soup or oatmeal, taking back the old and uneaten portions.  
  
If we were back home, if all of the awful things between us hadn't happened, I would be asking for Cassidy's opinion. She'd tell me things I already knew—keep an eye out, be available, listen, be myself—and I would reply with something that'd make her laugh. We'd bolster ourselves up before heading off to our assignments, whatever they might be.  
  
True and Jackson don't start stirring for another few hours. In that time, I had thought of every possible conversation that Cassidy and I might have had in the forest south of Pallet. I'm rustled out of that trail of thought by True stretching underneath the sheets, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes with a limp hand. "S'time?" she yawns.  
  
I glance over at the clock. "Ten. You can keep sleeping if you want."  
  
But she shakes her head and pushes herself out of bed, pushing sleep-tangled locks out of her eyes. There are still leafs and twigs tangled in her hair, which flutter down onto the mattress when True runs her fingers through. "Should shower," she whispers. "Can you…?"  
  
"Go for it."  
  
She has to be careful to not step on Jackson, who has twisted himself around the bed in his sleep. But after a few close calls she's able to make it to the other side of the room, and gently shuts the bathroom door closed. The water starts with a spurt that steadies into a gentle hiss.  
  
Jackson lifts his head at the sound.  
  
I move closer to Jackson's head, careful to keep in his direct line of sight. "You can go back to sleep, too."  
  
He grumbles an incoherent reply.  
  
The very first time I had tried easing him out of a defeat, right after the SS Anne, he had attacked me. I have to fight to keep panic from rattling my words. "Are you hungry now?"  
  
A pause. He nods.  
  
It's a good sign. He keeps his mouth closed, and I swallow back nerves. "True should be out of the shower soon."  
  
We don't have to wait long, thank Arceus. She emerges fully dressed with her hair in a limp braid. She shoulders her backpack and slips into her shoes, scuffed up by continuous long-travel wear, and eyes us. "I was going to just grab something for us to eat. Jackson, do you want to come with…?"  
  
He slowly pushes himself off the ground, sniffing the air. True approaches to loop his thin muscled arm in her large soft one and guides him down to the Center dining room. We're able to grab one of the tables in the back, big enough for all seven of us to eat outside our balls. Britt and Wilkes help to carry the trays—scrambled eggs and jellied toast for True, bowls of kibble for the rest of us—and sit down. Wilkes doesn't seem to notice anything's wrong, or if he does he's spectacular at hiding it; Britt, though she throws a curious glance at me, only asks how long it had been since they'd all been out. "Just the night," True replies. It satisfies Britt, and she starts to pop bits of her food into her mouth.  
  
After a slight hesitance from True, Hyde is released in a flash of white. Three heads fixate on Jackson, mouths opened to say something—but before he has the chance Clara pecks him bluntly on his side, shaking her head violently.  
  
It doesn't help. "You look nice in your eye thingies," the Exeggutor says. "Very stylish. Do we all get some?"  
  
My head falls into my paws with a smack.  
  
"Jackson just has to wear those for a little bit. He'll be out of them soon," True explains. "So we'll, um, we'll eat, and then—"  
  
"Training for the gym! I want to try doing my psychic thing again," Hyde says. He punctuates it by lifting his bowl into the air, releasing it with a victorious cry. Kibble flies everywhere, into hair and open mouths and other bowls alike; the plastic bowl crashes onto the table, drawing stares from the other diners and their Pokémon.  
  
This time, it's True's head that falls into her hands.  
  
"I just wanted a quiet meal," Britt sighs.  
  
"I just need practice," Hyde mumbles. He grabs bits of kibble and pops them into his open mouths, shyly chewing.  
  
"You're not even going to be fighting," Britt continues. She glances up and smirks at the ceiling. "This gym is all me."  
  
"We won't be doing much training until  _Jackson_ ," I say pointedly, "is able to fight with us."  
  
She shrugs and pops another few bits of food into her mouth.  
  
"Britt's right though," True says. "So I'll focus mostly on training her, we'll beat the gym… and then we'll figure out a game plan for Saffron."  
  
"Things will have changed," Wilkes says simply. "You're prepared?"  
  
True closes her eyes. "We'll have to go sooner or later."  
  
"Well right now, focus on this gym," Britt says. "You and me'll go out, Jackson can stay here and regroup—"  
  
"I'm coming."  
  
Jackson has stood up from his bowl, almost full, and looks us each in the eye. He settles on True, who sighs. "Are you sure you want to? I'm not going to let you train."  
  
"I have to get stronger," he says.  
  
True's eyes soften. "You will be. But right now you have to heal."  
  
"I can't wait."  
  
Britt narrows her eyes. "Yes you can. Sit your ass down, eat your food, and let me take point on this."  
  
Jackson whips his head toward Britt with a snarl, his lips pulled over sharp fangs. "Stop trying to protect me!"  
  
Britt answers with a growl of her own. "From what, yourself?"  
  
Metal screeches across the tiled floor. Jackson opens his mouth for a retort—and is absorbed in a flash of red. I look up to see True standing up, Jackson's Poké Ball held tight in a shaking hand. Britt's staring at her with narrowed eyes. "He's already pissed."  
  
"It'll be okay," True whispers. I look up to see the other diners staring expectantly at us—it must be rare to see members of one team fighting against each other like they're enemies, not allies. True settles back into her chair, standing stiffly. "We almost finished?"  
  
When it becomes clear that nothing's going to happen, attention is drawn away from us. We all finish our meals as quickly as possible and clean up the table. True leads the way to the battling field in the back of the Center, which is blissfully empty. Nevertheless, True looks around the field. Satisfied, she lifts Jackson's ball up and throws it into the air.  
  
He materializes with a loud roar, a feral cry that sounds so much like his mother's. Sunlight catches on his goggles as he rounds on us, nostrils flared. "You took me away!"  
  
Though True flinches, she continues to look straight at Jackson. "Just for a minute. We couldn't fight in the cafeteria."  
  
"You're going to put me away again! Like last night!"  
  
"I couldn't take you into the restaurant, Jackson, you were too—"  
  
"You won't let me fight in the gym because I'm weak!"  
  
Ice creeps up into my belly. "Recall him," I hiss in her ear.  
  
She doesn't. True takes a step back, but keeps her head high. "When have I ever said that you were weak, Jackson?"  
  
"You won't let me fight because I lost against her. But I'm strong!"  
  
Now her eyes are wide with fear. "That's not why I'm—"  
  
"I'm  _strong!_ "  
  
The back of his open mouth ignites a hot yellow-white. I'm tugging at True to move, to do something, but she might as well be stone: she crouches but doesn't flee, just watches as the Flamethrower races toward us—  
  
Our bodies meet the ground with a dull thud; the sand scratches my cheek, absorbs the weak Thundershock I release in fear. True's body suffocates for only seconds—she pushes herself up and scoots away as Britt thunders toward the raging Charizard.  
  
"You fucking call that a Flamethrower?" Britt roars, and I look up to see her slam a curled fist right into Jackson's open mouth.  
  
The others are shouting, but it's True's scream that stays with me as as we watch him fall. Jackson grunts and slams his tail against Britt's legs. She'd be on her back if she hadn't twisted herself at the last second; Britt lands on all fours and pushes herself back up with a snarl, biting the edge of Jackson's unfurled wing. He howls and opens his mouth for another Flamethrower, but Britt surges forward and clamps his narrow muzzle shot with a broad paw.  
  
His tail slaps against the wide expanse of her shell; her claws dig scars into her arms. Her hold is firm. With a slight jump she lands on top of him in a full-on body slam, pinning him down to the ground with their heads facing us.  
  
"You've done some stupid things before, kid, but causing a scene in a cafeteria and attacking your trainer takes the cake." She grunts as Jackson's tail slams on her tail again. She still doesn't relinquish her hold. "What the actual  _fuck_ , Jackson?"  
  
His howl is muffled. He thrashes again under Britt, to no avail.  
  
True's shaking hand comes up to recall both Pokémon—but Britt must see the movement because she snarls, aiming her cannons right at True's hand. "Recalling him made this worse. You need to let me calm him down. I can take a hit. You can't."  
  
I'm only aware that Clara's right beside us when she shrieks. There's murder in her dark blue eyes. She looks about ready to pounce before Wilkes slides in front of her, holding both hands up. "Let her try."  
  
Clara's talons strike new marks in the sand in protest.  
  
"I understand," Wilkes soothes. "She won't hurt him." When Clara grunts, he adds, "Much."  
  
True's hands are still quivering. Her breath is shallow and panicky when she pushes herself up. "He's already been hurt," she murmurs.  
  
The ground shakes as Hyde settles down beside us. "I'll pick her up if she tries anything bad," he says. "And you have those balls if things get really bad."  
  
True looks down at me, fear glistening in her wide eyes. I look over to Jackson, who is no longer thrashing under Britt—he's still growling, still weakly struggling for dominance, but there's no more tail lashing. No more fire.  
  
When I nod, True gathers me tightly in her arms. We all watch as Britt looks over to True.  
  
True nods. Britt turns her attention back to Jackson. "I'm going to let go of your mouth on the count of three. When I do, you're going to tell me,  _calmly_ , what the fuck is happening in that thick head of yours. You got that?"  
  
He groans. She seems satisfied, because she begins her countdown. On 'three,' she lets go of Jackson's mouth. His jaw opens wide, but no fire comes; it's all hacking coughs for air that make their way to a growled, "I couldn't win."  
  
"You lose a battle?" He doesn't answer right away. When, after what feels like hours, he finally nods, she scoffs. "Throwing a temper tantrum won't fix that."  
  
"You don't understand."  
  
"Then tell me."  
  
He shakes his head before he lets it fall to the ground, turned away from us. I open my mouth to protest but Britt meets my eyes, glares me back into submission. True holds me tight in her arms, resting her chin on the top of my head. We're stoic stone as we watch Britt push her face right into Jackson's.  
  
"You know what happens to Pokémon that attack their trainers? They get taken away. You want that to happen?"  
  
He shakes his head vehemently.  
  
"If this is about losing a battle—"  
  
"It's more than that!"  
  
Britt waits patiently.  
  
Maybe it's the heat and the chaos around us, but suddenly I'm back in Celadon, lost in the winding streets with only Jackson as a companion. He's curled over himself in exhaustion, an hour into an impromptu search for a missing Britt. We're both frightened and angry for great reasons. That had been the first time he had opened up to me.  
  
That's why, right before he says it—  
  
"The first time I lost, Kerri and Peter died!"  
  
It all becomes clear.  
  
All ounce of fight drains out of Clara in one fell swoop; the huge Fearow settles on the ground, her beak dropped open. True brings a hand to her mouth.  
  
"On that boat, on the water. Something hit Peter really bad, a huge brown thing, he was all… he was dead. Dead as soon as I found him. And then with Kerri, the man with the… with the gun. Killed her. I couldn't do anything until after that. The second time, that… that  _thing_  killed Minka. I couldn't save them I was  _right there_  and I couldn't save any of them!"  
  
Tears hit me square in the forehead. Hyde is speechless, every mouth open. Only Wilkes seems to be neutral about the whole thing; it doesn't keep him from drawing his attention by the smallest degree from the two Pokémon on the battlefield.  
  
"Now I lost again and my mother doesn't want me anymore, she thinks I'm  _weak_." His breath shakes when it comes. "I came to find her, and she doesn't want me. I couldn't win, so I lost her like I lost all the others."  
  
He'd told me. The whole reason he'd gone out on that wild chase through Celadon was to make sure Britt hadn't ended up like Kerri. And what the hell had I done? He'd pushed his emotions down and continued on. I hadn't said anything after that, because Cassidy had come, and then Chris had come, and then Minka had  _died_.  
  
I'd never told True any of this.  
  
Britt's paw shakes as it comes to Jackson's face; his body is tense long after Britt has slid the goggles pass his eyes and she's pushed herself away. He stays on the ground but lifts his head. He wipes messily at the tears that fall.  
  
"Now you listen to me," Britt says softly, "and you listen good. What happened was fucked up. Okay? It was  _awful_. Gran… Minka shouldn't have died the way she did. And I don't know who Peter and Kerri are, but they didn't deserve what they got either. They died, and it sucks. But it has nothing to do with you."  
  
"If I'd been—"  
  
"You can't stop a man with a gun. And I don't know what the hell happened in Saffron, but there was a chance none of us were going to make it out alive. You did. You can't…" She sighs, rubbing the back of her head. "Would you being stronger have changed anything? Maybe. But you weren't. So you don't get to beat yourself up. You lose a battle, you learn from it, you forget it. That's how you keep yourself okay."  
  
"She doesn't  _want me_ ," he whimpers.  
  
I have never seen Britt's face go as soft as it does now—she's almost unrecognizable without that snarky frown, that crease in her brow, the hard light in her eyes. I still half-expect her to swat the paw that Jackson offers, but she doesn't: she uses it to pull him back up. And then, miracle of miracles, she hugs him. She murmurs something quiet that I can't hear, that only encourages him to grip on tighter.  
  
True looks hesitantly at me, as though I'm the expert on matters like this. And in a flash of realization, no matter how little it might mean given my current track record, I realize that I  _am_ : how often had I been the Britt to True's Jackson, a private huddle peered on by inquisitive and well-meaning community members? I share a look with Britt, who has laid her head on Jackson's shoulder—we meet eyes and she nods.  
  
Hesitant, well-meaning True paces her way to the battlefield with all her balls fixed back on her belt to shyly rub her hand along Jackson's forearm. He looks up with a start and a fresh batch of tears. She murmurs something low, a question, and Jackson answers by lifting his arm. Britt moves away as True takes her place in the hug; Jackson wraps his wings around True and I, trapping heat and sorrow. Bodies push themselves against us—through Jackson's wings I see Clara and Hyde.  
  
"We want you," True says, as sure as I've ever heard her. "We will always,  _always_  want you."  
  
I can't look at his mouth, open with rounded silent cries, but I can look into his eyes, red-rimmed from irritation and tears. I can say what I should have in Celadon. "Being sad is okay. Being angry is, too. You take your break, and you heal… and if you want to—"  
  
"I want," Jackson rasps.  
  
"Then you get back in the game."  
  
We get a few seconds of warm hugging before Jackson releases his hold on us. Now I can see the others ringed around us, a protective circle of strength. Hyde has his body bent as low as it can go without him toppling over; there are smiles on each of his egg-like heads. "Sometimes I wish evolution had given me arms instead of legs," he says simply, "so I could hug you, too."  
  
True brushes her fingers against the goggles hanging from Jackson's curled horns. When he nods—a tiny, almost uncatchable movement—True eases them back over his eyes.  
  
We flinch at Clara's hiss. Every head turns to Hyperion, who slows his gait and lowers his muzzle to the ground. Around his neck sways a pad of paper, looped on thickly-wound rope. "Sorry for the intrusion. I've got a message from Blaine."  
  
Jackson snarls. True puts a hand against his scarred chest and furrows her brow. "What does he want now?"  
  
Even in submission—why else would an Arcanine have his head to the ground?—he's proud. "An apology—he wants to apologize," Hyperion corrects, as Jackson roars. "Sorry. He wants to apologize for the incident. And for the delay of his apology. He couldn't come himself because he's scheduled for gym battles, but he wanted to extend his hand and offer a match to fight him officially."  
  
I lean into her backpack as True takes a step forward. "What terms?"  
  
"Standard league rules. With your current badge level, it's a three-on-three match. But you choose the date and time. You come to the gym, you battle us. And hopefully, you win."  
  
True bows her head, then nods. "And he wants us to write our answer on that notepad?"  
  
Even hiding behind True's hair, I can see Hyperion's grin. "You're sharp. That's good."  
  
True's walking over toward him; I jump back onto the sand, hot from the rising sun, and watch as she fearlessly slips the rope with the notepad and pen off Hyperion's neck. She murmurs something to the great striped monster before walking back toward us, the pen already in her hand. "This couldn't have come at a worse time," she sighs.  
  
"It's better this way," Britt says. "Now we're in control."  
  
Jackson growls, "I want to fight him. Give me time."  
  
I'm only half-listening to the discussion. My eyes keep going back to the giant Arcanine on the edge of the sand, who's looking back at me with interest in his eyes. He sits down on the ground, lazily lapping at a forepaw. In that position, he doesn't seem like a threat.  
  
I know better.  
  
This Arcanine hadn't been my brother's killer. But he looks just as I remember the other one. Even with his sloping mouth and relaxed ears, even with his tongue poking out between his teeth, there's potential for chaos there, for death or something worse—  
  
"You all either fear me or want to kick the kibble out of me." Hyperion sighs. "Knew Blaine should have asked Apollo to do this. Electric-types don't have grudges against Rapidash."  
  
My brow furrows. I'm about to say something before True and the others break their circle. True slips the pen back with the pad and walks back over to Hyperion, steady-handed. "We'll see you this Monday. And thank you... um…"  
  
"Hyperion," the Arcanine says. He pushes himself back onto his feet as True slips the pad and rope over his neck and bows his golden head. "And thank you. Blaine looks forward to a battle against you."  
  
He holds his tail off the ground when he walks. For one short, agonizing moment, he turns his head to look over at me, his mouth parted to speak. But at the final second he decides against it, brings his head forward, and walks away.  
  
His eyes haunt me in my sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time coming. We got close to this moment in Celadon before everything started turning to shit, but it's here in the face of brutal defeat that Jackson really breaks. I think it's easy to forget that, despite Jackson being so powerful and being such a Charizard, he is by far the youngest of the group. He came from a culture that, like many of the other wild groups of wild Pokemon, value strength above all else. But what is strength, really? Having the power to blow things up? It's a question that not only sits at the forefront of Jackson's character arc, but it's one that influences the rest of the cast. ~~And it might not be the best way to encourage people to share their feelings... damn it, Britt.~~
> 
> Speaking of! For those curious, Britt never did learn Body Slam in the game. By this point she had Strength, Surf, and two other attacks I can't remember at this point. 
> 
> Apologies for all of the summarizing in this chapter. Most of the time I'm glad that WW isn't a comic run, but damn if flashbacks aren't easier to compose in comics than they are in storylockes. ;_; We should be hitting the gym next week, and then Saffron soon after that. :3


	62. Chapter Fifty-Eight

Our appointment isn't until late afternoon, but we wake up early anyway. Everyone gets a good, solid breakfast near the beach. The sun is shining spectacularly above our heads, to the point where I have to squint to see anything.  
  
"So we'll just give everyone the one-two," Britt says, "and we'll be on our way."  
  
"Do we get to watch?" Hyde asks. "I've never seen a real gym battle before, not for myself."  
  
True takes another bite of her sandwich and chews thoughtfully. "We'll have to see. Sometimes the gyms let you watch, but I don't know..."  
  
I take a sharp bite of my apple. "Doubt they could fit any of us in the bleachers."  
  
Britt narrows her eyes. "Who pissed in your kibble?"  
  
"No one," I mutter.  
  
"Well," Hyde says, "I guess there's always next time. For that Saffron Gym. Right?"  
  
True presses her hand against Hyde's side, but her eyes are all for me.  
  
We pack up our makeshift picnic with little fanfare. True recalls everyone and shoulders her backpack. When she offers me her arm I take it, settling into my usual place on her shoulder. She scratches the top of my head and makes her way back toward the center of town. Cinnabar Gym stands proudly in the sunshine, trimmed with gold and red. The brass doors are guarded by two Arcanine statues, gleaming a brilliant gold. Their mouths are wide open and they sit poised, regal, intimidating. It's impossible to make it through without looking at them.  
  
Rather than walk into the gym, True moves instead to one of the benches a few feet away. Flowers sway behind us in a warm summer breeze. True takes me off her shoulder and places me right in her lap, so that I have to look at her.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" she says softly.  
  
I'm great at helping True to open herself up, to talk about what was on her mind. I'm horrible at doing the same for myself. I look to the flowers even as True places a hand on the small of my back, teasing the fur there with a steady finger.  
  
"If you want to stay in the Pokémon Center, you can."  
  
I can't meet her eyes. So I close mine and take a deep breath. "I need to stay with you."  
  
"Who says?"  
  
Me, I want to say. Instead I tell her, "If I can't... there'll be safeties up, just like Pewter. I can't battle, I won't, but I can still—you need me to—"  
  
"You're going to make yourself sick," True whispers. "C'mere."  
  
Being close to her comes naturally. Being the one comforted does not. Her soothing hands stroke me and hold me; I bury my nose in her shoulder, take deep breaths over and over again. Here, I can't see the statues. Here, I don't have to think about staring straight into the flames—  
  
"Will you feel better if you don't come in with me?"  
  
I tear myself away to stare at her. "But you—won't you—"  
  
"I'll miss you," she says simply. "But it's one battle. And we have Britt. So I think... I think I'll be okay."  
  
And if things don't end okay? What then?  
  
"You can stay in the lobby, or even out here in the gardens. But I don't want you to work yourself up over this. You don't have to come in with me if you don't want to." She takes a deep breath. "And no matter what happens, I'm coming back out. You aren't going to lose me."  
  
My eyes are hot and itchy and I  _know_  I'm crying, but it doesn't really sink in until True's finger brushes under my eyes. I wipe the rest with the back of my paw and blink back any stragglers. "Y'promise?"   
  
Her smile is steady, secure, a lifeline that I viciously cling to. "I promise."  
  
We stay outside until my heart rate has returned to normal. True holds on tightly to me, brushing a finger along the back of my head, as we walk into the lobby. I focus on the dip of her shoulder, not on the guard directing True away from the spectator stands and toward the trainer check-in. The sunburn on her shoulder is starting to peel again; I pick at strips, letting the flakes of skin fall to the tiled floor.  
  
"I'm going to be okay," she says, over and over again.  
  
By then I'm able to tear myself away to look around the trainer sign-in. Plenty of squishy chairs, filled with trainers waiting to battle Blaine; plenty of potted plants and decorative posters to distract from the impending doom ahead. They must do their job, or maybe it's finally sinking in that everything's going to be alright and I'm panicking over something stupid. I take a deep breath.  
  
The boy behind the reception counter is hunched over his monitor, hands framing his face. "C'mon, c'mon,  _daaaaaamn_ ," he whines, just as we pull up front. He doesn't even notice us until True clears her throat, and only then it's with a passive look. "Crap. You're signing in, right?"  
  
True has already grabbed her trainer ID from her pocket, and hands it to him. "Is, um, everything okay?"  
  
"Not for Vulca," he says, examining the card. When he's satisfied himself, he hands it back alongside a small stack of forms. "Fill these out, they should be calling you in a few minutes."  
  
Maybe it's because I'm coming close to falling apart, but True seems more confident here than she had been in Fuchsia Gym. She signs the papers decisively, passing them back to the receptionist with a steadfast grin. He takes the forms without glancing up from the screen. True takes this as her chance to sit in the nearest armchair, which takes her with a comfortable groan. I fall off her shoulder onto the table, looking her straight in the eye. "How're you feeling?"  
  
"Nervous," she laughs. "You're sure you'll be alright here?"  
  
I nod, taking a deep breath. "Better than in there. I'll be with you in spirit, but I—"  
  
She places a finger on my lips. "You don't have to say it. I know."  
  
"True Fargone?"  
  
Our heads come up at the sound of the boy's voice. He gestures toward the iron door with a smug smile. "They're ready for you."  
  
True takes a long, deep breath, combing her fingers through her hair. "Guess this is it. I'll be back."  
  
"Okay," I whimper. I don't move a muscle as True straightens her shoulders, tosses her hair back behind her, and walks through the open doors. The boy must press a button or something to make them close automatically—they slam together, loud enough for some of the trainers to lift their heads.   
  
She's going to be fine. She'll be great. We'd been training since Hyperion had delivered his message. Britt was good, Britt was  _great_ , and it wasn't as if we didn't know how to handle fire-types. Jackson was a fire-type. Jackson hadn't brutally killed anyone outside of a life-or-death situation. Strike and Erika's Weepinbell—who hadn't died, but god, fire in your throat couldn't feel good—and Arceus.  
  
But Britt's with her.  
  
 _I_  should be there with her. But I can't. Does that make me a failure, not going where my trainer needs me? Where my  _friend_  needs me? I wouldn't be battling, absolutely not—but there are more ways I can be helpful. I'm her support system, I'm her cushion, I'm...  
  
Nothing, really, in situations like these.  
  
There aren't any television screens, broadcasting the battle or otherwise. There's a clock that ticks, minute after agonizing minute, and a full lobby populated with nervous trainers. I try and listen in on conversations, but there's nothing gripping enough to keep my attention—no one is saying much of anything, really. They keep me company as I stare at the clock.  
  
The boy at the front desk suddenly hisses, drawing an excited breath. He's still hunched over his computer, eyes bright and grinning victoriously. Several other heads have come up at the sound, but unlike mine, they fall back to focus on the Poké Balls in their nervous hands.  
  
"That's right, Vulca, you get it, Blaine—no!"  
  
A feed from the battlefield.  
  
There's a potted plant just behind the desk. And the boy looks so focused... But I was throwing a fit coming into the fucking gym. I can't watch a feed. If it's live, there won't be any editing—if anything horrible happens, we'll be watching it without protection.  
  
"He looked like an asshole coming in," the boy growls. "Poor Vulca. Poor Blaine, that's the second match he's lost today."  
  
Maybe if I just stick close to the desk, I can listen. He seems to be practically narrating the battle, and this way I can keep tabs on what happens. If anything horrible does happen... then I'll be able to prepare myself. That has to mean something, right?  
  
"Welp, let's see what this girl's got," the twelve-year-old snarks, and takes a drag from his soda pop.  
  
I'm not thinking straight. That's the only explanation I can give for me sneaking my way past the table, up into the plant. The plastic edges tickle against my skin, and the fake dirt sends shivers up my legs. But I fight against the sensation and bury myself deep into its embrace, tucking myself where I can. The camera must be near the ceiling, because it's high above the battlefield. We can see both sides at once. The camera angles don't change, so it must be just a fixed camera. That's fine with me. It isn't the best view, but the computer monitor is big and the kid has the match feed on full screen. No sound, but the kid's doing his own commentating.  
  
I don't even have to look, really. And I can always rush right out of this plant.  
  
Blaine's first Pokémon is a golden Ninetales. She holds herself elegantly, her pointed muzzle lifted high with pride. She doesn't even flinch as True launches her own ball, as Britt appears with a roar; she simply curls low to the ground, waiting for Blaine's command.  
  
"Not a problem," the boy grunts. "C'mon, Thesan, show that overgrown turtle who's head bitch in charge."  
  
Thesan is a golden, beautiful blur, racing toward Britt faster than my eyes can follow. The attack connects, pushing Britt back a few inches; Britt retaliates with a swipe of her paw and a torrent of water from her left cannon. The blast hits Thesan in the face, sending her flying to her half of the field.  
  
But it doesn't stop. Water pumps and pumps and pumps out of Britt's cannons, sloshing up against the protective barriers. Thesan growls and starts to approach again—but with one quick swipe of Britt's hands, the water shoots up and gathers in one decisive blast. The Ninetales disappears in the dark water as a geyser is lifted up into the air. Britt lets it fall with a smirk that even I can see, clear up here.  
  
The water-logged Thesan stumbles over her dripping locks, grunts, and falls.  
  
"Figures, with a Blastoise," the boy mumbles. "Anyone can come in here with a water-type."  
  
She's not just any water-type though, I think, and grin behind the plastic ferns. Such a display of controlled power gains the crowd's favor; even from here, I can hear them cheering. Blaine fingers the edge of his hat and chuckles, plucking another ball from his pants pocket. Britt juts her chin up, flashes a contented smirk, as Blaine throws another ball into the air—  
  
Right at that moment the doors swing open. The trainer before True lifts his head up proudly, practically struts to the front counter. He flashes a smile, white against his heat-flushed skin, as he leans over the granite top. "Blaine said I had to talk to you about the next step?"  
  
The boy's hands are shaking on his mouse as he minimizes the battle feed to another screen. "Seventh badge? Go to Viridian. You'll have to sign some forms and allow the Center there to do a thorough physical and mental health check of your Pokémon."  
  
"Hmm. Sounds easy enough. Thanks, kid," the man says, as he pops his collar and walks through the outer doors. The boy watches him go for all of two seconds, takes a quick scan around the lobby, and reopens the feed.  
  
Britt's still on the battlefield, panting but standing firm, as a downed Rapidash—Apollo?—is recalled in a flash of red. The receptionist has his hands in his hair—"How the  _hell_  did he go down that fast?!"—as I breathe a sigh of relief. There can't be many more Pokémon to go through. They're fire-types, but Britt has proven herself to be worth every headache, every bitter word, every blow. I see her tilt toward True and—is that a thumbs-up? But yeah, there's True throwing a thumbs-up of her own.  
  
Things are going okay. Things are going  _great_. Maybe we can actually win this without incident. Everyone will come home.  
  
What little hope was fluttering in my chest disappears as, with a yell and a flash of light and a laugh from the receptionist, Hyperion appears. Any sign of unease from the boy disappears as the great Arcanine . "Game over, girl," he smiles, as my stomach clenches.  
  
Arcanine are known for their speed; Blastoise are not. I'm expecting the worst as Hyperion charges Blastoise—but I don't expect him to dive to the ground.  _In_  the ground. Hyperion has disappeared before Britt can even summon her water, leaving only a hole to betray he was ever there.  
  
"What in the name of Mew," I murmur, as seconds pass. Dig attacks can come rapid-fire, or they can come after an agonizing wait. Blaine apparently favors the latter, because the seconds continue ticking away and there is still no Hyperion. Britt turns to True with a cocked head and a raised fist. True only shrugs in response. Still no Arcanine.  
  
That's when the floor starts to steam. And finally I see Britt bowing her head, switching her balance with her feet. One cannon points straight at the ground, blasting a shot of water onto the ground. Steam explodes over the battlefield, engulfing everything. True throws her hands up at the hot mist, even after it's been caught by the Safeguard barrier. There's no way to see Britt in all this, what if she's been—  
  
There's no time to think. Hyperion erupts from the ground, barreling straight into Britt's chest. Britt howls and falls right on her weak spot, the flat part of her shell. She tilts once, twice, but is unable to reposition herself. Hyperion's jaws open wide—  
  
Britt disappears in a flash of red, and I can breathe. With one fluid motion True places Britt's ball back onto her belt and throws the other. Jackson emerges in a flash of white, soaring above the ground with a ferocious battle cry. The receptionist practically leaps out of his chair, his hands over his mouth to muffle the startled scream. I lift myself out of the plant, my throat full and watch Jackson loop in the air. His talons glow hot-white and, with an opened mouth, he dives straight down.  
  
Hyperion makes no effort to move. Not one muscle twitches as a bright green glow engulfs the Arcanine. Jackson's claws meet Hyperon's head and bounce off, wood on steel; Jackson's only just able to evade before Hyperon lashes out, all claws and teeth. Jackson retaliates with a Flamethrower that strikes the Arcanine right in his face—even the receptionist winces with me—but he takes the blow stoically, letting the flames wrap around his body. Hypeiron emerges from the blast with a toothy grin and bows to the ground, preparing to spring.  
  
It's been such a long time since I've watched a match like this—I've seen plenty of gym battles now, with True, but it's a completely different experience when you're watching it from a screen. Even unedited, even without the dynamic camera angles and screaming commentators, it seems controlled, it seems like something that shouldn't be happening. But it is, and it's—without the fire, just looking at the churning muscles and the arcs in the air... there's something beautiful about it. I'd forgotten.  
  
He launches off the ground like a missile, catching Jackson right in the belly. Both of them fly up before descending—but no, Jackson has his claws wrapped tight around the Arcanine. They both crash to the ground in a cloud of dust and residual steam, sending shock waves through the ground. They both stand up, panting, eyes locked onto each other. The green light shimmers along Hyperion's mane, engulfing the rest of his body. Jackson arcs up into the air, twirls once, and heads straight for the ground—  
  
But not for Hyperion. Jackson disappears underground in a slither, wings pulled tight to his body. Hyperion growls and blows a Flamethrower straight at the hole.  
  
It doesn't make a difference. Jackson explodes from the ground in an explosion of churned earth and fire, digging his claws deep into Hyperion's belly. Hyperion tumbles to the ground hard, bits of fire escaping his mouth.  
  
He lifts his head, stumbles to his feet. Jackson bucks his head and unfurls his wings, breathes another column of flame onto the sandy field.  
  
Hyperion chuffs a response—and then, as I watch with my heart hammering in my throat, he falls.  
  
"Son of a  _Grimer_ ," the boy hisses, and beats his hands on his desk. "Knew I shouldn't have taken that bet."  
  
I don't know what to feel. There's pride and there's fear and there's surprise and there's uncertainty all battling in my chest at the outcome. Jackson doesn't seem worse for wear as Blaine recalls Hyperion—he's jumping up and down, racing toward True and spinning her in a tight hug. They're celebrating, they're joyful, they're  _happy_. And in that moment, it doesn't matter that I wasn't there to watch. Because this didn't end like last time, this was good. This was how things were supposed to be. This was how I should have seen my brother and Chris.  
  
Hot tears bubble down my face. This time, I don't wipe them away.  
  
The boy at the counter closes the window just as Blaine hands True her badge, slipping his head into his hands. I wipe my nose and start to shake myself out of the plant. Just as I'm about to hit solid ground, the doors open again—not to True and Jackson, but to a grizzled old woman wearing a gym trainer uniform. I push myself closer into the plastic fronds as she pulls up beside the young boy, who might as well have melted onto the table. I work my way back in to the hiding place as she snickers, leaning on the side of the table. "Pay up, lad."  
  
"Can it wait until I get my paycheck?" he mumbles. "I won't have the money 'til then."  
  
"You shouldn't've bet, then."  
  
"I thought I'd win!"  
  
"Youth," the woman chuckles, and shakes her head. "You can pay me later if you let me swap spots with you now, my feet are hurt."  
  
They do so, with a few murmured words. The old woman lifts her head and wags her finger. "Honestly, kid, you need to stop counting your eggs before they hatch. Stop betting everything on that Arcanine."  
  
Hyperion? I watch the boy's face grow heavy as he says, "He hasn't been this good since... well, since the good old days!"  
  
"I was there in the good old days, kid," she laughs. "One little slip's all it takes, and then there'll be no Hyperion to root for anymore. Just like that other one."  
  
Bile floods in my mouth, sharp and bitter.  
  
"Blaine's not like her," the boy snaps. "And neither's Hyperion. I have faith."  
  
The old woman shimmies into a more comfortable spot on the chair with a sigh. "Then take that faith to the battlefield, kid. Make sure no one starts a match in the stands again."  
  
He makes a resigned retreat through the doors, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The old woman shakes her head before turning her head to my potted plant. "You're lucky that kid's got a one-track mind. Get out of here, this is employees only."  
  
She watches me slink out of the plant and away from the desk, even as she calls for the next challenger. I sit on one of the end tables, all energy gone.  
  
I can only remember bits and pieces of the aftermath of Al's game. Nothing else had really mattered except that he had gone. The former Champion had been stripped of her title and Kanto trainer's license; not much has been heard of her since. I'd never paid attention to her Arcanine. For all I knew he had been locked up, or rehabilitated. All I knew was that there was a bias against them now—scientific studies had been done and everything. Maybe some had even used Hyperion as a test subject.  
  
It didn't matter. It doesn't matter, because now we're leaving Cinnabar. I'll never have to see Hyperion or another Arcanine ever again.  
  
I miss the doors open. I don't notice True's here until I'm buried in her chest. She's bouncing up and down excitedly, drawing stares from the trainers waiting to have their battles. She smells like soot and heat but  _Arceus_ , she's alive and she's here and nothing bad had happened.  
  
"You should've seen Britt, Casey, she was—even up until Hyperion, he  _dug_  underground and used Fire Blast! I'd never seen anything like that before! And I had to bring in Jackson, he was the only one who was immune to that trick. He was so good, I wish you could have seen him—"  
  
I put a paw to her lips with a laugh. "You have to go over to the desk, miss winner."  
  
She teases my fingers between her lips, but carries me in her arms back over to the old woman. Her eyes meet mine for one second and I grin awkwardly. This seems to satisfy her. "So from the looks of things... this is your sixth badge. You will be heading to Saffron to battle with Sabrina."  
  
Not even that can dim the excitement in True's eyes. "Should I call from Cinnabar, or should I wait until I'm there?"  
  
"As soon as possible," she drawls. "And if that's everything, you'd best be on your way."  
  
"I will. Thank you," True says, "thank you so much." She practically flies away from that desk, holding me close in her arms. But I manage to shimmy up to catch eyes with the old woman, who does not look away until we've disappeared from each others' sight.  
  
"...And I wish you'd been there, but there was so much fire. But you seemed to be okay out there, were you?"  
  
I shake my head—and then, seeing the surprised look on True's face, chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, I was okay. What's the plan now?"  
  
Her brow furrows. "Britt's feet got burned pretty badly by that Fire Blast—she's okay," she says, seeing my wide eyes, "she'll be fine, but better safe than sorry, you know? And then that'll give me time to... you know what, let's not focus on that for right now. We'll drop Britt off and maybe go get some ice cream. I need to give everyone the synopsis."  
  
"So you had fun?" I tease.  
  
She stretches her arms out and yells to a wide-open sky. "I haven't felt this good in  _forever!_  Ha, I almost forgot what this felt like."  
  
I furrow my brow. "What's 'this'?"  
  
True wraps me tight in her arms and twirls on her heel. The world stills with a breathy laugh. "Feeling that everything's actually going right for a change."  
  
No one had died, we had our badge. We came out of the fire with burned heels, and those should be an easy thing to fix. No more Cinnabar, no more fires, no more memories.  
  
"The worst is over," I say, as red begins to streak the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra art, questions, worldbuilding, and other fun tidbits, follow Wonderwall's tumblr: wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	63. EXTRA: Spectator (or, the five screens tuned in to True Fargone vs Cinnabar Gym)

_"Welcome to another hour of Battle Mania! We're your hosts, Trisha Von—"  
  
"And Mitch Jansen. Today we'll be guiding you through some matches that will make you _feel the heat _of battle!"_  
  
"Oh Mew... but yes, plenty of talent to be viewed tonight, folks! Things just continue to heat up the closer we get to the end of the gym season—we're officially two months away from Victory Road time! And may I just say—"  
  
"You always do, Trish."  
  
"That the caliber of battling trainers this year is something else. But that's enough intro. Let's kick things off with the hot-head from Cinnabar, Gym Leader Blaine!"  
  


* * *

  
If Chris had had his way, none of the gyms would broadcast their matches. There would be no spectators for gym battles, no tickets, no bleachers filled to capacity and screaming for bloodshed. But there are only so many times the League can impose taxes on the people of Kanto to help pay for free healthcare for Pokémon, for cheaper trainers' items. And they no longer broadcast the gym battles live. If accidents happen, people don't have to be scarred by them.  
  
Freedom of the press be damned, trainers and Pokémon deserve to have the privacy to mourn losses without being subjected to the media.  
  
He has very little time now to laze around and watch the Battle Network, but in his defense he isn't  _really_  watching. He has pages of notes to read before the latest emergency meeting with the Elite Four and Mr. Silph, who has taken on the reins to rebuild the company his son had transformed into another cog in Team Rocket's wheelhouse. He has no time, Chris thinks, as he swipes another line of text with a bright yellow highlighter.  
  
Tanza sits by him, who every once in a while points out a typo in a memo but is otherwise silent. He's fixated on the battle. They're playing Blaine's battles today. Chris had met eccentric men in his life, but none had ever quite fixated him the way Blaine does. Passionate about his work, yes, and always maintaining a distance between himself and his team. "It's easier for me if I separate myself from them," Blaine had once said, "in case something happens."  
  
But nothing does. And maybe it's because Blaine has been a trainer longer than most in the circuit have been alive. Chris knows better, though. Ten years have healed most of the scars from that first Championship battle, but his stomach still aches every time he sees Hyperion.  
  
 _"Now if there's one thing I love about recorded battles, Trish, really love, it's that there's an authenticity about them. You'll see plenty of dolled-up girls in their dresses and scarves, and men in their best pants, but these gym battles? They're the real deal, they're what battling's all about. None of this flashy cape nonsense."  
  
"Which, since Mitch brought it up, means it's a great reminder to those watching that we're a proud supporter of Dragon Tail Apparel, manufacturer of _Johto Champion Lance's _capes."  
  
"Oh they totally look good, don't get me wrong! But... well, we'll take this trainer right here. Nothing flashy about her."_  
  
"Casey isn't there."  
  
Chris's brow furrows as he looks up at the screen. The business memo—trade deals with Devon, in exchange for their generosity—is forgotten on his lap when he sees the red-haired girl walk toward the battlefield. Tanza's right: there's a ball in her hand and a determined expression on a face he doesn't remember being quite so stoic, but there is no sign of Casey.  
  
"Did you think he would be?" Chris asks.  
  
Tanza sighs. "I don't know what to think anymore."  
  
 _"Maybe not her appearance, Mitch, but there's history with that name. Daughter of Richard Fargone, of course, and kin of Tess Fargone. Let's see if there's any talent to go with that interesting family pedigree."_  
  
Chris places a hand on the Electabuzz's shoulder and squeezes tightly. "He took the guitar."  
  
"He took the guitar," Tanza repeats. "But that wasn't because of me. That was all him."  
  
If by 'him' he means Al or Casey himself, Chris doesn't ask. He turns to the report on his lap, sighs, and moves it to the polished coffee table at his feet. "I'm in the mood for a break, if you want to watch?"  
  
Tanza wipes his face with the back of his huge hand and chuckles. "This is because you don't want to focus on work."  
  
"Maybe," he jokes, and leans back into the couch as Blaine releases his first Pokémon.  
  


* * *

  
 _"Ahh, I always just sigh when Thesan comes onto the field. She's the reason I wanted a Ninetales as a kid."  
  
"You and a lot of people, Mitch. And here we see Fargone bringing out... wow, that's a big Blastoise."  
  
"Common enough to see water-types brought into the Cinnabar Gym. Let's see if this contender is more than her type advantage."_  
  
Tess Fargone had contemplated going up to the private balcony in the gym to watch this battle live; she had a friend who worked reception, who had told her when True was up for battling. But she'd made a deal with her granddaughter—no verbal contact. And from a reaction that strong, she figured it meant no physical meetings either.  
  
But that was what media had been invented for: spying on other peoples' lives from the comforts of one's own home.  
  
 _"And that's a Quick Attack, but—oh, look at that water! If I'm not mistaken...!"  
  
"That's a Surf if I've ever seen one!"_  
  
The Ninetales goes down in one decisive blast of water and doesn't get back up again. The Blastoise on the other side of the field is strong, healthy and large and whole—she would have been a fine prize. But there will be no prizes anymore; by order of the  _Champion_ , the casino will be allowed to stay open but will no longer distribute Pokémon. TMs, yes. Works by local artists and Pokémon, yes. (Which how that will work, Tess has no idea; there will, she assumes, be a mandatory meeting for that, as there had been for all the others.) But not the creatures themselves. They, apparently, get to play in another lottery to determine the course of their lives.  
  
Ripper pushes a beak against her free hand. "Master will be late for her important phone call."  
  
There have been several important phone calls; they blur in her mind, all unimportant and all requesting her to shut up and listen. They're two things she has never, not once in her life, been good at. It tries her patience.  
  
"I'm the one who asked for it in the first place," Tess says simply, and takes another sip of wine. There's only so much control she has left in these negotiations, these rearrangements. "Let them wait."  
  


* * *

  
 _"And here we see Apollo taking the field. Blaine sure knows how to pick beautiful Pokémon. Sometimes I forget I'm watching a battle instead of one of those Hoenn contests!"  
  
"Well fortunately, Mitch, this isn't the Contest Hour. This is Battle Hour, and we'll see that with this first—yes, there goes the Flamethrower, nice hit on that Blastoise. Looks like Fargone really has trained it well, not even flinching from the fire."_  
  
Sherri winces with the sharp pain in her finger—one look down to her hand is all it takes to confirm that she's pierced herself with her needle, again. She pops the injured finger in her mouth before any blood can fall onto the powder-blue fabric at her work station, and fumbles for her pack of bandages nearby. She waits a few minutes, gently licking her tongue against the tiny wound, before wrapping her finger nice and tight.  
  
That's three fingers in two hours. Maybe she shouldn't sew and watch at the same time.  
  
Something hits the door. Sherri's eyes fly up to see Preston struggling to slip through the cracked window. Two months ago, it hadn't been a problem; he'd been a tiny Pidgey, small enough to keep in one hand. So much has changed since the Silph Tower mission, and Preston is just one. "Spontaneous evolution," the nurse had told her, once the chaos had begun to die down in the tower. "It happens in high-pressure situations, usually with Pokémon protecting their trainers. You have a very good friend."  
  
Before she can push herself up to open the window, Preston has wiggled himself past the opening and into the room, landing heavily on a perch Sherri had whipped up from old rolls. Everything's too small for him now. At some point she'll have to widen the door, replace his toys and furniture, and probably start taking him out for serious exercise. Nothing like battling, of course, but in a city as big as Saffron there has to be  _something_.  
  
"Remind me again why we can't go back home?" Preston chirps.  
  
She loves the bustle and action of Saffron, loves the sight of the sun hitting the mountains. But she misses her walks along the beach in Vermilion, too. So she gives Preston the mantra she's told herself, over and over since she'd accepted Chris's assignment: "Because rent's half price here, the shop was failing, and the League gave me a stipend for helping out." She picks up the needle again and slips it through the shimmery fabric. "It'll be easier, in the long run."  
  
Preston flops more than lands these days. He's still smaller than the average Pidgeotto, but he's still grown, maybe more than double in size. His weight is still an unfamiliar one on top of her head. "Only you could go from making uniforms for a terrorist group to making costumes for musicals."  
  
" _Maybe_. I still have to get these finished. But if I land this gig, Pres, we'll have enough money to do whatever we want. Maybe open another shop."  
  
"Maybe even hire people to do this stuff for you," the Pidgeotto chuckles, teasing a lock of curled hair in his beak. "Then you can have some free time."  
  
 _"And it's a decisive knock-out, faster than we've seen in a while! Down goes the sunny Apollo to this beast of a Blastoise. Most Rapidash are fast but, heh, I guess there's only so much room for dodging on that tiny battlefield."_  
  
"Well, and remember, Trish, Apollo's strength has never been jumping. He's a sprinter. And I don't think there's any way you could've dodged that Surf if you didn't have the jumping power."  
  
But hadn't she just turned away? Blaine's Rapidash is absorbed in a bright red beam, leaving True and her Blastoise alone on the field. The giant blue Pokémon turns to True and flashes a thumbs-up; True returns the gesture with a cheeky grin that Sherri, days and miles away, returns to the screen.  
  
"Free time," she breathes. "Wouldn't that be something?"  
  


* * *

  
 _"And here—yes, there he is! The infamous Hyperion himself, Blaine's ace!"  
  
"He's everything Blaine favors in his Pokémon, Mitch: strong, graceful, and one hell of a charmer. He's the perfect answer to this show of controlled might that Fargone brings to the match, and really, a true—heh—a real sneak peak as to what we should be expecting for the League."  
  
"There's something to be said about battling such a crafty foe. And that's just the battling part, nothing to be said for Victory Road..."_  
  
She knows the routine as well as she knows her iron will: in late October, the gates to Victory Road open. All the eligible teams go through the winding mountain pass and up to the stadiums. Either you get through and earn yourself the right to battle the Elite Four, or you fail. And if you fail, you have to wait a year to take the challenge again.  
  
This might be Cassidy's first year as an official battler, but she will be damned if she doesn't make it through the first try.  
  
Their match against Blaine is two days from now. Per doctor's orders, Cassidy is on Gary's bed, resting up for the final fray. The rest of the team is out with Sheldon, practicing a newly-learned technique—a way to boost his abilities and deal faster, greater damage.   
  
She's alone in this tiny Pokémon Center room—or as good as, since Michaela is so quiet. The Alakazam's presence inside her head is a familiar, comforting one; she feels Michaela probe gently against her consciousness, not offering words but a simple gesture. The television is the only sound in the room, brought down to a low volume.   
  
 _"Yes sir, between all of this talent I don't see why we shouldn't be treated to a spectacular display in Victory Road. We'll be there commenting on all of those shenanigans on KNS in October! But I'm getting ahead of myself. Now if I can direct your attention to..."_  
  
<<Were you intending on reporting this match to Gary?>>  
  
Maybe. Maybe not. Right now she can only focus on True on the side of that battlefield, on the absence of Casey on her shoulder or at her feet or just  _beside_  her.  
  
<<If what the Champion said was correct, he won't be anywhere near that building.>>  
  
Most of their conversations are mental these days. It only takes a stray thought, a wisp of emotion, for Michaela to become in tune to her. Since evolution she's been able to better control her range of hearing—no longer does Michaela accidentally stumble into thoughts she shouldn't. But Cassidy always welcomes the brushing of their consciousnesses. It's how they communicate. How they've always communicated. And for however strange it might have seemed at first, now it's natural. Like breathing.  
  
<<What will happen when we meet again?>>  
  
Not if. "What makes you think we will?" she asks, her voice echoing in the empty room.  
  
<<I'm watching this match, too. It's possible that we will cross paths.>>  
  
Cassidy closes her eyes and sighs. Since she and Casey had seen each other, Gary had earned two badges. Cinnabar would be their seventh. There had been plenty of training to distract her, plenty of techniques to learn. But sometimes at night she'll still see the fear in his eyes, the way his mouth curls when he calls her... when he...  
  
Michaela's clawed hand presses gently against the back of her neck, just hairs away from her sensitive frills. <<You have us. Sheldon, Boston. Me. If you don't want him—>>  
  
But Cassidy laughs, and looks back up to the screen, back at a Casey-less True who recalls her Blastoise with a yell. "That's the problem," she says, and sinks lower into the mattress.  
  


* * *

  
 _"Now after that 'fire in the hole' trick from Hyperion, the Blastoise is down. But look at this new contender! Looks like we'll be seeing a fire-vs-fire battle, folks, and—yes, there goes the Slash, bounced off by a timely Protect on Hyperion's part!"_  
  
Inza doesn't remember leaving the windows open. For one, it lets the hot air in, which completely undermines the idea of having A/C; and for another, she's paranoid. Pallet Town is small, with only a few families, but every one of them is a gossip, a spy. They don't dare set foot into the house, of course, or try to break in, but once or twice she's caught a few Pidgey lurking on the window sill, poking their beaks in for any whisper of a new scandal. She hasn't given them anything to worry about: all she does is go to work, come home, fix dinner, and watch high-haired announcers dish dirt on celebrities.  
  
The TV, so far as she can tell from the front porch, isn't tuned to the gossip channels—she knows, just by the high lilt of the announcer's voice and the distorted cries of a crowd, that it's the Battle Network. And that can only mean one thing. Inza places one grocery bag on her hip and digs for her keys. She slides it into the lock, turns, and gently pushes the door open.  
  
All is right in her house: no furniture upturned, no fires from the kitchen, not even a smudge from a muddy footprint in the main hallway. The only real thing of interest is the television screen flickering a battle: an Arcanine jumping right into the belly of a roaring Charizard, the two orange shapes colliding to the ground.  
  
 _"A dust match! And will that be the end—no it won't! Both the challenger's Charizard and Hyperion are back up and—yes, there goes the Charizard—"_  
  
The man sitting on her couch leans his whole body to the screen, his hands digging into his legs. The door closes with a soft click, perhaps inaudible with the chaos on the screen. He must hear it though, because he flinches toward her. They meet eyes for a second before his attention returns to the battle, who has just dived underground.  
  
The camera turns to the challenger's face, and Inza's heart stops.  
  
Tofu will keep outside a fridge for a few minutes. She sets the bags onto the kitchen table and stands behind the couch, her hands finding their familiar place on a pair of tense shoulders. There are no words to be shared between them: they watch silently, with bated breath, as True Fargone commands her Charizard—she hadn't had one of those the last time she'd seen her, when on earth?—to rise from the ground.  
  
It's a powerful blow, one that takes her breath away. The shoulders under her hands tighten further as the Arcanine falls to the ground, fails to get up.  
  
 _"And that will be the sixth badge for True Fargone,"_  one of the commentators says.  _"Really a terrific display of controlled power, especially from that Blastoise."_  
  
Her partner laughs.  _"Now I'm just hedging a bet here, but I if it hadn't been for that underground Fire Blast from our boy Hyperion, that Blastoise would have made a clean sweep."_  
  
Blaine is striding toward the center even when the Charizard pounces on True, lifting her up and spinning her around. The last Inza had seen of her daughter had been her back, as she'd flown out of the tiny Center room in Fuchsia. The girl from her memory bears only a passing resemblance to the laughing, smiling woman who finally pulls herself away from her teammate, who is grinning long after the cameras pull away from her. Inza moves from the back of the couch to the coffee table and picks up the remote.  
  
The sound vanishes abruptly. There are no more distractions. Inza sighs before turning around to sit down on the couch. A familiar pair of watery green eyes looks up at her.  
  
"I was watching the food channel," Richard murmurs. "Went for the volume. Pressed the wrong button."  
  
"It was a good match."  
  
"She looks good."  
  
Every other week she would visit Richard in the jail; they were allowed one hug upon seeing each other, and one hug after. Even a month after his release, she still isn't quite used to the freedom of touching him, of seeing him outside of a gloomy meeting room. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and she sighs, leaning into him. "She's mad at us," Inza murmurs. "At me for telling her about you. And you, about…"  
  
"Will she come home?" he whispers.  
  
"I don't know. She'll be close if she has to battle in Viridian, but I don't..."  
  
Richard closes his eyes and presses his temple against hers. "She still has a while before she has to be here."  
  
"If she gets here," Inza murmurs.  
  
"You saw that match," Richard says. "I've spent enough time watching battles. She has it."  
  
Awkward silence stretches between them for seconds, minutes, maybe hours. Finally Inza sighs and pulls away, but grabs Richard's rough hand in hers. "I figured we could have tacos for dinner tonight. You want to help?"  
  
He flicks his eyes to the screen, to the line of pictures perched on the far wall. "Yeah. Yeah," he says, and stands up. "Tell me what to do?"  
  
She can still hear True's laugh ring in her ears as she pulls her husband away from the television and the pictures and into a kiss that, no matter what she does to change it, tastes like a different kind of longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra art, questions, worldbuilding, and other fun tidbits, follow Wonderwall's tumblr: wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	64. Chapter Fifty-Nine

We stay the night in the Pokémon Center's recovery room. For a gym that specializes in fire-types, we had gotten off with only a few burns—the worst are on Britt's feet, dark and splotched, but Jackson has a bit of scarring around his belly where Hyperion had rammed into him. They take a bed each and doze off the drugs—True has placed a chair between the both of them and teeters haphazardly in the gray space between awake and asleep.  
  
The room's quiet save for Britt's snoring and Jackson's soft whimpering through the night—he quiets when True rests her hand along his neck. Every once in a while a nurse will slip into the room to trade a few snippets of information with a half-awake True, speaking in murmurs. The worst of the burns will have healed by morning, but Britt will have to keep off her feet. Jackson might have to wear the stupid eye goggles for a little longer, just to make sure his eyes stay sharp.  
  
She repeats this in the morning, when we're all fully awake. True, who's still a little dozy but much more alert, listens and nods with quiet sighs.  
  
And after all that's said and done, True takes Wilkes along with her to pack; there's only so much I can lift, and Wilkes does just as good a job at checking the room for any flyaway socks. I'm in need of sunshine after being cooped up in the dark recovery room and doze on one of the benches. Clara stands inches away from me, half-eyed and basking in the early morning light.  
  
"We aren't going too fast, are we?" I ask.  
  
Clara doesn't move a muscle, just clicks her beak in question.  
  
"Like," I clarify, "we aren't trying to make up for lost time. I know that training is important, and we're in August, and we have to be in Victory Road by October if we're competing... but I don't know."  
  
Clara folds her wings in and leans down toward me, meeting me in the eye.   
  
"We're winning battles and training and that's great, and that's important, I just..." I sigh. "It feels weird to ask for a break, but I feel like we need one. Do you?"  
  
I get a grunt and a shrug in response. And that's all we have time for—True, with all Poké Balls on her belt and backpack on her shoulders, walks toward us with a heavy stride. "The nurses helped me book a room in the Pokémon Center at Saffron," she says, and brushes a hand against Clara's enthusiastic cheek. "So we'll have a place to stay."  
  
Do we still have the apartment from the League? Had we given back that key? I'm afraid to ask, so I don't. Instead I climb into Clara's downy collar and hang on tight as the Fearow shoots up into the early morning.   
  
With good winds and clear skies, it takes almost the entire day to fly from Cinnabar to Saffron. We could shave a few hours off by going in a diagonal across the sea, but there's no telling if there are small islands to rest on. Instead, we keep to the land, just skirting familiar cities. There's wilderness past the League-marked routes, but it's land and we're strong. Or, this is what I tell myself in moments of doubt, when Clara wavers in the air or hits a burst of unfriendly wind.  
  
We stop once so that Clara can rest her wings and inhale a few snacks, and so that I can remind myself that ground exists, that wind stops. True spends this grounded time with her back to the ground, looking up at the cloudless sky with her fingers tangled in her hair. Her cheeks are flushed from the hard ride.  
  
While Clara takes a nap, I come over to rest on True's belly. "We can take it slower," I tell her, as one hand comes to brush against my back. I see a flash of red and look up—her nails have been bitten down to the quick.  
  
She doesn't seem to notice me noticing. "I'm finally feeling okay."  
  
"If you weren't, would you tell me?"  
  
"Yeah," she says. "Of course."  
  
Her reply echoes in my head long after we've flown from underneath the Cycling Road. The sky is red and gold when we fly over Celadon, already gleaming with multicolored lights; by the time we've touched down in Saffron, checked in, and gotten settled into our rooms, it's dark. The room's larger than the others we've stayed in, which means there's enough room for Britt to sprawl out on the floor. The white bandages on her feet hide the dark marks where she'd stood on the burning ground. She scoots slowly to the side of the bed, settling next to the mattress.  
  
"You're allowed to express your pain," Wilkes says, hovering in his corner of the room.  
  
"Fuck off," Britt growls.  
  
True, who has just come out from a hot shower, frowns as she dries her hair in her towel. "Do you want to go back down to the recovery room?"  
  
Britt scowls and shakes her head. "They can't do anything else. I just need to get over this."  
  
And I want the storm to be over, so we can start rebuilding.  
  
We turn on the television and flip between local news and the Battle Network. Two commentators are going at it, debating over the pros and cons of status effects in battle. Wilkes takes one look at the flickering screen and bids us a quick farewell, phasing through the closed window.  
  
"You need to just strike hard and fast!"  
  
"Why waste the energy? Let the opponent wear itself down!"  
  
"Can you believe that they get paid to do this," Britt mutters. "Might as well turn the news back on."  
  
But nothing really comes from that, either: there's a segment on robberies being busted by local trainers, quickly followed by news to erect a fountain in the south part of the city. Nothing entertaining or particularly noteworthy.  
  
True shuts the television off decisively, then flops onto the bed. Britt lifts her head, brow furrowed over her sleepy eyes. "I say the sooner we defeat that gym, the sooner we can get out of here."  
  
I shoot her a glare, but True has already turned to the booklet of local tourist attractions at the bedside. "Restaurants, musical theatre... hm."  
  
I look up from my place at the end of the bed. "Hm?"  
  
"A training center. 'Bruce's Dancing Dojo: Unlock your Pokémon's potential through the power of dance.' There're actually places like that?"  
  
"There was a guy in Vermilion who tried doing that," Britt says. "His Dodrio wouldn't stop harassing the customers. Got laughed out of town."  
  
True tilts her head to the side. "You ever take classes from him?"  
  
"Saw him a few times." Britt shrugs. "Had some decent moves, I guess, but it didn't save him."  
  
She looks away from us, adjusting her paws under her chin. I look up at True, who's still staring at her booklet. "They say anything else about that studio?"  
  
True's eyes light up with surprise, but she nods. "Um... Pokémon have to fit inside the building, so nothing like, super big." True smiles down at Britt. "You want to check it out?"  
  
Gold eyes look up, then back down. "When my feet heal," she says. "If they're in that booklet, they should be okay."  
  
I tuck into True's side with a sigh. "We'll have a day to look around, see if there are any other good training spots, and then make an appointment for the Saffron Gym. Get some food. See some sights. Take a moment to just breathe."  
  
That seems to be enough for Britt, who closes her eyes. But True looks up to the ceiling with a grim expression. "It's August," she murmurs.  
  
I press up against her, kneeding my paws against her shoulder. "We have plenty of time. It isn't October yet."  
  
True stretches wordlessly to turn off the lamp. The only light comes from the hallway outside, through a thin little crack. The mattress groans as she resettles, her back facing the door. "Not October," she repeats, and sighs.  
  
It takes her a while to really fall asleep—an hour, maybe, for her breathing to slow down into normalcy. Only then do I pull slightly away to unlock the guitar case, pull out my brother's guitar, and jump up to the window. Locked, but only for a few moments. The window closes with just a soft click, and suddenly I'm outside.  
  
Saffron's Pokémon Center is surrounded on all sides by buildings, their windows gleaming amber in the late night, but there's a ring of trees to separate the city from this place of healing. I jump to the nearest one and cling on tight to the branch, ignoring the bite of the bark against my palms and the sharp hum from the instrument on my back. The leaves tickle me as I climb my way down onto solid ground again. I pass nests, but there are no occupants. As far as I know, I'm the only one out here.  
  
Good.  
  
I find a place on one of the wooden benches and play quietly, soft strings of melody that don't carry far past the ring of trees, and only pause to tune up. The cold strings feel good on my fingers; I don't even mind their biting when I fuck up finger positioning. The moon is a giant eye overhead, bathing the tiny clearing with silvery light. If I close my eyes, I can feel it like a presence. The last time I had played this guitar, we had been north of Cerulean. Other things had been more important—taking care of True, fighting the gyms, traveling, not dying in the Seafoam Islands. I feel myself being lost to the moonlight and the music, and if I focus, I can hear shadows of familiar voices.  
  
"You play well."  
  
Not that one.  
  
The chord goes sour with my flinch. When I open my eyes Wilkes had settled beside me, his clawed hands entwined. "Did he?"  
  
My heart's starting to slow. I swallow. "Which 'he'?"  
  
He looks pointedly at me. "The former owner of that guitar."  
  
I run my paw across the wood. It's lost its shine, sitting in that guitar case for the past few weeks. "He taught me all he knew," he says. I laugh. "Wasn't much. He liked battling too much to sit down and practice. But he learned a few chords, and he taught me those." My finger brushes against a groove in the wood, where Al's sharp tail had slapped against the instrument in a huff. "Taught me rhythm. Taught me a bunch of things, but the musical ones were what ended up sticking."  
  
"He tried teaching you to battle?"  
  
Tried was the key word. I sling the instrument back over my shoulder and look up at him. "Is True okay?"  
  
If he's thrown by my change of topic, he doesn't show it. "Asleep," the Haunter says. "Dreamless. I thought I could give her that tonight."  
  
It's tempting to ask if he knows what she dreams about—no. I know the answer to that: he knows what I dream about, talks about them with me, so why shouldn't he know True's? I might be her confidante, her partner, but that doesn't mean I need to invade her privacy. She needs one space where she can keep her secrets, safe from anyone.  
  
"Sometimes I think I'll wake up from all this," I say, "and it'll all have been a dream, and I'll be..."  
  
"Back in the laboratory?" Wilkes asks.  
  
"In the lab. Maybe even back in Sinnoh." Al's guitar is a heavy weight on my back. "I don't know. But that all seems far away, too, like it's a dream. It's getting hard to tell them apart."  
  
"Neither is the dream," Wilkes says simply. "It all happened. But focusing too much on what happened will blind you to what will come."  
  
He sounds like one of those self-help textbooks I had found in a tiny bookshop in Viridian. The thought makes me laugh. "You sound ridiculous when you say that."  
  
His only response is a shrug—which should be impossible, since he doesn't have shoulders. He moves his hands and tilts his head and stares at me, and it's only then that I realize that I'm still laughing. "Perhaps it's time you go to sleep," he says, his eyes glowing purple in the moonlight.  
  
Maybe I could fight back, but once I stare in his eyes there's no fighting back. The purple pupils are the last thing I remember before everything goes black.  
  


* * *

  
"You're gonna fall off if you don't hang on," True laughs.  
  
Wilkes had put me to sleep, alright, but I guess it hadn't been enough because I can hardly keep my eyes open. True had woken up early this morning and was eager to explore the city. We hadn't had much time to do that the last time we were here. The people shuffling through the streets hold briefcases or toolboxes in their hands; some notice us pass by—and that isn't hard, considering Hyde is walking behind us—while some keep their attentions focused straight in front of them. I almost wish it was Clara or even Jackson and Britt behind us, but they're back in the Center resting.  
  
I nibble on an offered piece of cheese danish as Hyde laughs. "I'd pick him up!"  
  
"'M not falling off," I mutter, as the sweet treat coats my tongue.  
  
Wide grins stretch across all three of Hyde's egg-shaped heads; a bit of pastry flies from the corner of my eye and is caught in Hyde's right-most mouth. "Tasty," the left head says.  
  
True takes a swig from her hot chocolate and laughs. "Just ask if you want some, Hyde, there's plenty to go around."  
  
Needless to say, with five mouths, it disappears pretty quickly. But it's a quick treat that serves its purpose, and we continue on down the street.  
  
The dance studio is closed for the day—"Renovations to the floor," says a Machoke standing guard, "but we should be done in a few days. Want a flyer?"—so we end up wandering around. I bury my nose into the pamphlet, which is an exact copy of the flyer we have in our room at the Pokémon Center. The closer it gets to noon, the more tourists and Pokémon come out to hit the local joints. I try and take note of any notable places, like Pokémon-friendly restaurants and the dance club on the corner of Lucile and Main, but there are so many signs and so many people that I end up losing my place sooner rather than later.  
  
True looks up from the penny-map in her hands with a frown. "So if we go this way, and take a right, we should be able to find the gym..."  
  
"Can we stop for a bit?" Hyde asks. "I'm getting kind of hungry."  
  
True puts the map down and smiles. "Sorry, Hyde. Let's see..."  
  
The city's too big for its own good, but we find a cheap outdoor cafe that sells sandwiches and water. Hyde's too tall to fit under the umbrella that shades our table, but he manages to maneuver himself into standing. He practically inhales his sandwich, but it doesn't satisfy; he sneaks bits of my food with mischievous eyes and watches the people pass by. I'm too focused on the map to watch, but once in a while I'll hear snippets of conversation.  
  
"...sooner they update the railroad..."  
  
"...even keep a job, the asshole..."  
  
"...teach my Growlithe how to open..."  
  
"Where do they all live?" Hyde wonders aloud.  
  
I look up from the map. "In houses or hotels. I don't know. Isn't any of our business."  
  
Something flutters above our heads—a Pidgeotto, I guess, from the tiny glimpse I get of the wide wings and thick body. I don't think I've seen one in the city, or even away from the trees. Usually it's Pidgey who flock in urban spaces, or the odd alley Meowth. True glances up from her sandwich and locks eyes with me. "So after this, we might go see the gym and sign up for a battle."  
  
"You're sure you're alright for this?"  
  
"We're just signing up," True says, and takes another bite.  
  
"Where do gym leaders live?" Hyde asks.  
  
I blink. "Uh. Maybe they have houses?" They have to live somewhere, I guess. "True, you have any..."  
  
But True isn't paying attention. She isn't looking at me or Hyde or even the map, but down the street. People and Pokémon are leisurely strolling past outlet shops and food carts, minding their own business. None of them are noteworthy. "You see something?" I ask, and try and follow her line of sight.  
  
"Lots of beautiful people," Hyde says appreciatively.  
  
But I find the catching face as soon as it notices us—or, I find the Pidgeotto who lands on top of a familiar cloud of black hair. He gestures up and brings the girl's attention to us. Even from here, I can see her eyes widen in recognition.  
  
"You didn't say goodbye to her, did you," I ask softly.  
  
There's a long, heavy bag in her arms. They're walking faster.  
  
A panicked True pushes herself away from the table. "Um, maybe we should get out of here, I—"  
  
"You're really here."  
  
Sherri seems put together, if only just. There are dark circles under her eyes and bandages on her fingers, or at least the ones that are poking from the heavy garment bag that she balances in her arms. The pale blue scarf around her neck flutters with a gust of wind. The tiny Pidgeotto that flutters beside her—Preston, of this I have no doubt—ruffles his chest feathers and stares up at me.  
  
"Please tell me you haven't been here all this time," Sherri quietly says, "and I haven't just been missing you."  
  
True lowers herself back into her chair, brushing a few locks of hair out of her eyes. She doesn't meet Sherri's curious face. "I've been gone," True says, just as quietly. "But I'm back now. I just..."  
  
Sherri lifts a gentle hand. "I heard. And you don't have to apologize, I'm just glad you're okay. Or... you  _are_  okay, yeah?"  
  
True's heart is racing, I can hear it even from the other side of the table. As she nods back, I brush myself against her arm and settle close to her chest. Hyde has tilted his head and stares down at Sherri, who stares back with wide eyes. "You're very pretty," the Exeggutor says.  
  
True's face flushes crimson.  
  
"Uh, thank you," Sherri laughs, and readjusts the bag in her arms. "Anyway. You guys off to do some secret trainer thing?"  
  
"No! No, we weren't... we weren't doing anything," True says, pushing her hot cheek against her hand. "Just eating. You can, uh, sit down? If you want. That bag looks kinda... heavy."  
  
But she shakes her head with a smile. "I'm actually on my way to a job interview. Local theatre group's in need of a costume manager and, well, I need the money."  
  
True furrows her brow. "But I thought your shop...?"  
  
"It was failing," Preston says with a shrug, "and Vermilion's expensive."  
  
"The League couldn't have come in at a better time, really," Sherri explains. "They paid me for going undercover and keeping an eye out. I've been able to live off that and the bonus for after, but it's starting to run out and I'd really rather not go back to live with my grandma."  
  
"You could come live with us!" Hyde says, totally oblivious to True's flushed face. "We've got food, and we sleep in these rooms, or even outside!"  
  
Preston hangs his head with a sigh, but Sherri laughs. "I'm not much of a hiker. Thanks, though. But anyway, I need to get over to my interview, but that shouldn't take too long. And I'm free after that, so if you still aren't doing anything...?"  
  
"We were going to see the gym," Hyde starts to say, until True's hand shoots up to cover one of his mouths. It misses, and lands with a thud on his body. There's shock in each of his eyes.  
  
True, though, doesn't take notice, and instead manages to fumble out, "Uh, no. Nope, just... we're exploring. Maybe the gym. Just for a match. I don't know."  
  
I'm threads away from taking over this conversation myself. I don't know what stops me: knowing that True should probably do this for herself, or mortification.  
  
Sherri brushes a few curls behind her ear. "Well, the last time I saw you, I promised a meal."  
  
When had that been? The last time we'd seen Sherri had been right before Gary had returned from his disaster of a mission, and then after that... well.  
  
"I, um, I do like eating," True says, then shakes her head. "So you'll be done...?"  
  
"Five?" Sherri smiles. "Will you be at the Center?"  
  
"Y-Yeah, but... that seems like a long walk for you?"  
  
"We're going to be late," Preston says pointedly.  
  
"Give me a sec, Pres. I'll be around there," Sherri laughs. "So I'll see you there, then."  
  
"You... yeah," True says, as Sherri walks away with a wave. Preston laughs under his breath and flies after his... trainer? Boss? Friend? Whatever the case, he hovers just feet above her, chirping words that get eaten up by the din of the crowd.  
  
We don't say anything for five good seconds, and then—  
  
"Gosh, True, you look like Jackson," Hyde says.  
  
As one, True and I bury our heads in our hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra art, questions, worldbuilding, and other fun tidbits, follow Wonderwall's tumblr: wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	65. Chapter Sixty

"Now remember, if you need anything at all, send Wilkes back for us."  
  
True rolls her eyes in the mirror. "Sure,  _mom._ "  
  
"I'm serious, if you feel weird, or have any... you know? I'll come for you."  
  
Britt scowls from behind the bathroom door. "You're smothering her. Let the girl do what she wants."  
  
I can't help it. We've spent almost every moment together for the past three months, through the good times and the bad ones. To see her go off on her own, without me for protection, it feels weird. Not wrong, because True's sixteen and needs to be able to do her own thing. But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  
  
Then again, that could be the pastry.  
  
"It should only be a few hours," True says. A quick trip to the local clothing store had secured us a fitted white jacket for True to wear over her trademark (and freshly washed) green tank. She's done her hair up so it's nice and curly, thrown over one shoulder with an artificial ease. "I'll be back before you know it."  
  
I repeat this over and over to myself as I walk her down to the Pokémon Center lobby, as we wait in the chair and watch trainers pass in and out of the building. The rest of the team are in their Poké Balls, utterly oblivious to the comings and goings of the lobby.  
  
"She's just so pretty," True says, "and I'm..."  
  
"Beautiful, too," I say fiercely. "Just... chin up. Shoulders out." I straighten myself on one of the arm chairs and demonstrate. "Strut. Fake it 'til you make it."  
  
She laughs. "Remind me never to take romantic advice from you," she says, and teases the flip of fur on my forehead with a finger.  
  
I miss the clock striking five. True doesn't, though, and draws a quick breath. I follow her to see the dark woman of the hour stride confidently through the sliding glass doors. Sherri's traded in her dark circles and bandaged fingers for a shimmering blue top and a tight pair of black jeans. Her heels click on the floor as she walks over to us with a smile. She offers a hand to True, who has already started to push out of her chair, and smiles. "You ready to get out of here?"  
  
True meets my eyes with a shy smile and a flush in her bronzed cheeks. When I nod encouragingly, she falls in step with the other woman. I watch them go until they're out of my sight, and have to fight to stay on the chair until there's no following them.  
  
Maybe Wilkes will come. And maybe things will be just fine, and I'll look back on this and laugh because what am I doing here, worrying about a girl with her badge-winning team in what is probably the safest city in Kanto?  
  
So I go back up to the room, where bits of clothing have been tossed over chairs. She's left her Pokedex behind, and the cheap yellow camera we'd gotten from the vendor in Saffron. I take a few experimental shots of the room, trying hard to keep the bras out of frame, before catching myself in the long mirror. The camera's right by my butt and I watch as my finger accidentally slides over the "take" button.  
  
Welp. I'll have to get rid of that incriminating photo. No one wants to see a butt selfie.  
  
There are better things to do than take dumb pictures with a camera, though. Like make music. I pick up my brother's guitar and strum a few experimental chords. The music soothes me, allows me to breathe easier. My fingers prick a melody of their own, one I recognize after a few beats—it's an easy song that, were it not for a few variations, sounds like any other shitty song playing on the radio right now. I could sing the words, but I don't; instead I allow the easy melody to string me along.  
  
Somewhere, someone screams. I ignore and just continue to play, and play, and play, even as two figures suddenly materialize in front of me. I yelp and lean backwards, my paws firmly on my brother's instrument. Somehow I'm still playing, like I'm adding the soundtrack to my own life experience. The music doesn't suit the mood. I change the key. Much better.  
  
Two figures, one pale gold and the other shimmering blue, tangle out of each other. The gold fox disappears with a wink and a flash of purple The light from the dying afternoon hits a slender, toned body, throwing up every curve that my eye tracks hungrily. They take in the dip of her shoulder, her ruffled neck, her huge honey-gold eyes. She looks very beautiful and much warmer than I would have expected, given that the last time we'd seen each other I'd called her a monster.  
  
She doesn't look very monstrous now, with the lean of her hips and the flash of her eyes. It's still not a look I recognize on Cassidy, Eevee or Vaporeon.  
  
"Wh-What're you doing here?" I ask. For some reason I'm still playing.  
  
There's a coy smile on Cassidy's slender muzzle as she walks toward me—no, slinks; no, saunters—whatever it is, she comes to me with mischief in her almond-shaped eyes. "I wanted to see you. I couldn't wait."  
  
"I thought you'd already gotten your badge from Sabrina," I whisper.  
  
She wordlessly places a paw on the guitar, forcing me to stop playing. "You can come back to a city without wanting its badge."  
  
"Where's Gary?"  
  
"With his harem of girlfriends," she whispers. "He doesn't know we're here."  
  
"But then—"  
  
"Michaela," Cassidy says breathlessly, as if spending so much time with a Kadabra had given her mind-reading powers, too. "She wanted to help me do this."  
  
My throat is dry. Words press up against the flabby thing in my throat, but somehow I'm able to push them out. "Help you with what?"  
  
With more grace and purpose than should be necessary, Cassidy takes the neck my brother's guitar between her teeth and pulls the instrument over my head. I forget about the instrument even as it hums a seductive flourish and look up at Cassidy, who is now on the bed with me. "Whatever you need," she says.  
  
I'm able to cheer up sad Trues and maybe skirt my way through a low-intensity battle. I know what my body wants to do. I think I know what Cassidy wants to do. The words are rocks in my mouth. "Uh. Let me get back to you?"  
  
"Gary will find out I've disappeared soon," she purrs. "And True should be back any time now."  
  
"Wh—she's only been gone for," I start to say, and turn to the clock. 6:30. How long had I been taking stupid photographs? "An hour and a half. That's not long enough for a date."  
  
"So you ship them," Cassidy says simply. No question.  
  
"I want her to be happy."  
  
This seems to satisfy her. She flops onto the mattress next to me, her pale belly exposed. "And what about... us?"  
  
Burn me alive. "Wh-What about us?"  
  
"You can feel all this sexual tension," Cassidy whispers. "Can't you?"  
  
True had said I could be emotionally constipated. But I can't ignore the flutter in my belly or the heat in my cheeks or the incessant want to touch her face and hold her paws. "I can."  
  
The door slams open and both Cassidy and I flinch away from each other. Two bodies stare back at us from the entryway, hair ruffled and lipstick smeared and lips swollen. True takes one look into the room sighs, and pulls Sherri inside before closing the door. "I know how much you've been waiting for this moment, Case," True says, "but I need that bed. And, um, some privacy."  
  
Cassidy shifts so I can stand up. I look challengingly at True and say, "You just met this girl."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You aren't ready."  
  
"I have the confidence to bang her right now," True says, "and who knows when I'll have it again?"  
  
"Cassidy doesn't hate me, and I don't hate her," I retort, "and who knows when  _that_  will happen again?"  
  
True furrows her brow. "So what do we do?"  
  
"Maybe we should let the main character have the bed," Sherri says diplomatically. "And the loser gets... I don't know. To suppress their sexual thoughts because this is a PG-13 board and we're already insinuating girl/girl sexy times."  
  
That makes sense. I nod sensibly, because it makes sense. "Great. Have fun hiding that, 'cause me and Cassidy—"  
  
"Wait," True hisses. "I'm the main character. So really, I'm the one who gets the bed."  
  
Cassidy tilts her head. "But this story is in Casey's point of view. So technically—"  
  
"Being the point of view character doesn't necessarily mean you're the most main character," Sherri mentions. "Just that you have something different to say."  
  
"I'm a Pokémon in a world that treats Pokémon like slaves or dinner," I challenge, "so that obviously makes me the winner."  
  
"But you'd be stuck in Pallet Town if it wasn't for me!" True articulates. "So that has to get me something."  
  
I force my chest up. "Who won the Extravaganza award!"  
  
True's face lights up in delight. "For Favorite Written Pokémon!"  
  
"That's an award more than you have!"  
  
"Favorite Written Pokémon is not Favorite Written Protagonist!"  
  
Cassidy hangs her head in defeat.  
  
Fuck.  
  
"Have fun making love under the stars," True shouts, and kicks us both out. The last thing I hear is Sherri's giggle as the door closes. Then a groaning mattress.  
  
I sigh and turn my head over to Cassidy, who is frowning at me. "I mean, making love under the stars... heh, wish we could be in Pallet, you know?"  
  
"We'll get there someday," Cassidy hums. "For now though, maybe we could just... cuddle and sing together?"  
  
We press our bodies together right in front of the door, in plain sight of everyone who might stumble upon our close connection. "I left my guitar in the room," I whisper.  
  
"We'll do it acapella," she laughs, and curls around me as she starts to sing.  
  
" _Mm whatcha say~_  
Mm, that you only meant well,  
Well of course you did  
Mm whatcha say~"  
  
"Sing it, babe," I sigh, and close my eyes.  
  


* * *

  
When I open them, I'm back in the room. No one is singing. There's water running in the bathroom; I can hear True's unsteady heartbeat even from the bed.  
  
"It's 3:30," a whispy voice says above me.  
  
I have to blink the sleep out of my eyes before meeting Wilkes's faintly glowing ones. Even then I'm still groggy as I breathe in a deep sigh. "She hasn't left yet?"  
  
After a long pause, he says, "No."  
  
I lean up and stretch, pulling my paws as far over my head as I'm able. "Did I miss anything?"  
  
"No," Wilkes says.  
  
I blink. "Did you need anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Does  _True_  need anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
I glance over to our room: there are only a few clothes scattered across. No bras or used panties. Nothing seems to be on fire. "Then what—"  
  
"I'm not one for organized religion," Wilkes says, "but you may need to get in touch with your... or at least take time for yourself."  
  
It takes me a moment to understand what he means. And when I do, my face flushes. "You saw—"  
  
"All of it."  
  
The water's still running in the bathroom. " _Nobody finds out_."  
  
"If I'm lucky, I won't remember this... thing."  
  
I shake myself out and jump off the bed. "Good. Um. Yeah." And with a deep breath, I move into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't that a beautiful date? I really hope I conveyed the emotion necessary to pull this off. It's hard to go to fluff when we've been in angst mode for so long! So hopefully you guys enjoyed this, it took a lot of work but I think I managed to get what I was going for. :)
> 
> ~~moral of the story: do not give Casey processed sugar when he's exhausted he'll dream some _crazy shit_~~
> 
> ~~yes, this is a real chapter~~


	66. Chapter Sixty-One

"So  _then_  what did you do?"  
  
There isn't a good place to bang my head on True's shoulder, or to hide from a probing Hyde. When True had first come back from her dinner date with Sherri, we'd all been cute and fevered and asking her questions. She'd answered all of them, lightly flushed and giggling.  
  
Four days after the date though... it was getting less cute.  
  
True doesn't seem to mind. She looks up from the flyer in her hands with a shy smile. "We just talked about, you know, stuff. And when I saw her she said she wouldn't hear about the job for a few days... and I guess it's been a few days now. Maybe she's working."  
  
"And  _then_?"  
  
"And  _then_ ," Britt mocks, "they skipped along the river bathed in moonlight." She leans on Hyde. " _Passionately_  locked lips, and  _then_ —"  
  
"Don't," I hiss.  
  
She takes it in stride and whacks her paw against Hyde's trunk with a grunt. "She'll tell you when she wants to, not when you pester her."  
  
Only Clara and Wilkes are in their Poké Balls; the rest of us turn heads as we walk to the northern parts of the city. Glitzy signs wink at us in the morning light, advertising high-end restaurants and comedy clubs and dance parlors. I'm sure at night it's a popular hangout for the artsy crowd, but at this hour the only doors that are open are the big-name bakeries that try to lure us in with coffee and pastries.  
  
"Soooo," Hyde asks, "when she stops being red like Jackson?"  
  
The Charizard in question looks up from True's other side and tilts his head. "I'm not  _that_  red."  
  
True certainly is, though she tries to hide it with an upturned hand. I turn my head to a grinning Hyde and an exasperated Britt and make sure to meet their eyes before saying, "I'll recall you if you don't stop."  
  
"You gonna train us now?" Britt smirks.  
  
"I have a... type advantage," I say, even as the Blastoise starts guffawing. "No, I'm serious! Ask, uh..." I puff my chest out. "Ask Jackson what it's like to be paralyzed."  
  
Jackson meets my eye from True's other side and frowns. "You're not going to do that again."  
  
"But you don't know that," I say.  
  
"You look like you're going to fall over," Hyde giggles.  
  
"Hey, that's enough." True turns on her heel to face Hyde and Britt, one hand on Jackson's shoulder and the other on my back. "We aren't fighting anymore. We're going to get some training in."  
  
"And we're going to like it," I say, glaring pointedly at Britt.  
  
She meets my eye and scoffs. "Don't look at me, I think it's a good idea."  
  
"But what about dancing is so good for battle?" Jackson asks. "You're just supposed to hit things."  
  
True takes Jackson's clawed hand and holds it firmly in hers. "That's what we're gonna go find out."  
  
From there we keep relatively silent, soaking up the hustle and bustle of a waking Saffron. We're there right when 10:00 hits and Bruce's Dancing Dojo are opened by a tall, heavily muscled man. I have to look hard to find his eyes under his heavy, sweaty brow. "Kids have an appointment?"  
  
True lets go of Jackson's paw to pull out the flyer we'd been given by the Machoke the other day. The man inspects it, then nods. "Step inside."  
  
There is no reception room, only a huge cement-floored room ringed entirely with sturdy mirrors that catch us at every angle. White lights hang from the supported ceiling that's maybe four or five Hydes high. While the others stare into the mirrors—Hyde and Jackson making faces, Britt studying her scowling face—True and I walk to a tiny booth in the corner. Our muscled man inspects us, his heavy lip turned down. "Looks like you want a team service. This all you got?"  
  
"Um," True says, "I have a Fearow and a Haunter."  
  
"Six Pokémon? Two-hour session?"  
  
"I guess?"  
  
His lips part to reveal off-white teeth. "Then that's five-thousand."  
  
It's an expense that catches me off guard, but True hardly flinches as she hands over her trainer ID. "I can take it from my account."  
  
Everything must check out alright; it takes a few minutes for the computer to scan the ID and for the necessary funds to come out. The man hands the card back with a grunt. "I'll go grab the instructors. Release your other Pokémon and wait here."  
  
Clara and Wilkes join us in twin flashes of red light, blinking in the harsh light. Jackson murmurs a few low words to Clara, who nods and follows him uneasily on the slick floor. Wilkes meets my eyes and floats toward me, looking inquisitively around the room. "We decided to do this after all?"  
  
"Any advantage we can get," True says. She looks up to the hovering ghost with a smile. "Especially you. You'll be key for Sabrina's gym."  
  
Wilkes's smile turns slick like honey, sharp like a Beedril's sting. "Then we'll get started."  
  
A heavy door on the other side of the spacious room opens. Three figures walk out from the darkness and into the brightly lit room: two heavily-built men who look like they could rip metal bars in half; and a sprightly Hitmonlee, who balances on the heels of his feet and looks nervously around at us. The three walk to the center of the room and stop before, with one fluid motion, gesturing us to come forward.  
  
We meet them, seven on three, and look down.  
  
"Fifteen years ago," the man on the left says, "this was the Saffron Gym. Wong, my brother, and I trained the world's best fighting-type trainers here, as well as the city's best construction workers."  
  
"This was until Sabrina came with her band of psychics," says the man on the right. "We petitioned the League for a chance to keep our position. We lost. Rather than kick us out of our home, the League built a new gym on the other side of town."  
  
"We did not bow to the pressure of the community. We would not leave."  
  
"We rebuilt our former gym into a dojo and continued to teach the techniques of fighting-type Pokémon, and offered our services to any who wished to learn."  
  
Hyde shuffles his feet and tilts his heads. "But it doesn't look very busy right now."  
  
The men say nothing as the Hitmonlee steps from the line to stand in front of Hyde. "Our former master left to train in Johto two years ago, and took many of our trainers with him. Wong and Wei stayed, and we are rebuilding yet again."  
  
I glance over and open my mouth to say something, but Hyde beats me to the punch. "That's great, but I still don't see how—"  
  
There's no preamble: the Hitmonlee's elastic leg swoops right under Hyde's unsuspecting legs. Hyde topples to the ground like a roaring oak, landing with a crash that reverberates in the huge room. The dark brown Pokémon bows his head before effortlessly backflipping into his space in the line, as if he'd never moved.  
  
I don't notice my jaw dropping until True's finger pushes it back up.  
  
"The fighting-type is so much more than kicking and punching," the two men say. "Aim. Patience. Technique. Control. These are what we teach at this dojo."  
  
With a bit of flailing and some help from Jackson and Wilkes, Hyde is able to get back on his feet. "How many installments is this because I feel like I—"  
  
Another flash of the Hitmonlee's leg, another grounded Hyde.  
  
True bites her lip but steps forward. "Maybe if we could... not hit him like that?"  
  
"He'll have worse if you proceed further in this badge quest," says Wong. "They all will. It is your responsibility as their trainer, their master, their leader, to keep them from harm. Can you do this?"  
  
The weighty stares from the rest of the team aren't aimed at me, but this close to True's shoulder I can feel them. True looks at each of them in turn, clenches her fists, and closes her eyes. "I'm going to try."  
  
"There is no try," Wei says. "There is only do. Like so."  
  
It's a bizarre, intense experience. All of us, even True, are led through a series of stretches and exercises that are meant to "extend our bodies" and "heighten our awareness." All I know is that I'm sore five minutes into the session, limp legged and panting. The others don't seem to have as much difficulty—Wilkes does what he can, not having a body, and though Hyde often falls over because he doesn't have arms to balance with, he perseveres.  
  
The Hitmonlee taps me on the head whenever he sees my attention wander, correcting me with a soft, "Pay attention to your own self."  
  
I lose track of how many times I'm flicked in the head.  
  
There isn't a clock that I can find in the room, so I don't know how much time has passed. It's been long enough that I can feel my throat dry up and my lungs burn for rest. True, flush-faced and dripping with sweat, brushes a hasty finger along my arm as we break for a very brief respite. I guzzle down the water offered in ceramic bowls, hardly pausing to breathe.  
  
"This is what I call a workout," Britt grunts, stretching her arms up over her head. "Feel loose yet?"  
  
My stomach grumbles and twists in a knot. I wince. "Might lose my breakfast."  
  
Jackson tilts his head. "You're sick already? We haven't even done much."  
  
Not  _all_  of us can be epic gym battle stars. At this point I'm just glad that I'm able to get up off my feet and stay coherent. And if True doesn't mind, then neither do I.  
  
Wei claps his hands together to bring our attention back to the task at hand. The two brothers stand on opposite sides of the room, mirroring each other perfectly. The Hitmonlee stands in the perfect center of the room, leaning forward with his ropey arms crossed. "Do you come here for a specific purpose, trainer?"  
  
True pushes the wet rag off her forehead and slings it over her shoulders. I have to fight not to climb up and grab it from her. "To defeat Sabrina."  
  
"And your plan of attack?" Wei asks.  
  
She furrows her brow. "I've been told that ghost-types will be strong against her psychic-types."  
  
Wong digs into his pocket and pulls out a black-and-white Poké Ball. "Bring your Haunter to the center."  
  
Clara growls low in her throat as True walks. Wilkes hovers just above her head, hands extended in front of his face. The Hitmonlee walks to the other side of the huge room, settling cross-legged beside Wei. I feel my stomach twist into a deeper knot and grimace.  
  
I don't recognize the huge-hipped Pokémon that emerges from Wong's Poké Ball. The stranger presses gray palms together and bows its baubled head before shifting herself into an attacking position.  
  
"A Medicham," Wong says to a bewildered True, "from a far-off region. A Pokémon that possesses both physical and mental strength. You will not see this Pokémon in Sabrina's gym." His eyes harden. "Attack her."  
  
True hesitates for a moment before calling out her command. "Hypnosis."  
  
Wilkes flies from her side without a sound, his eyes glowing a bright purple. The Medicham simply closes her eyes and cartwheels in a perfect circle around Wilkes. His pointed hands fly away from his body and grab on tightly to the Medicham's shoulders—his head follows quickly after, widening with a swiftly-gaping mouth.  
  
"Thunderpunch."  
  
The electrified fist slams right into Wilkes's face, sending him flying. Her eyes are still closed when she straightens to her full height, as Wilkes grunts and flies straight at her again with glowing eyes. The Medicham is almost fluid as she springs out of the line of fire, turning effortlessly.  
  
"Confusion."  
  
The Medicham's hands fly in front of her. Wilkes stops dead in his tracks. His hands waver—no, my eyes are watering—no, they disappear, and reappear right in front of Wilkes's pained face. I spare only a glance to the Medicham's eyes, wide open and shimmering with intense light, before focusing back on Wilkes, who cannot seem to break free of the attack despite his struggling.  
  
True's curled into herself like a hesitant question mark, brow furrowed over panicked eyes. "Hypnosis!"  
  
It is not an attack that answers her command.  
  
It is laughter. High, demonic, keening, hysterical giggles that roll into the next, tumbling and echoing in the huge room and sending shivers down my spine. Electric, devastating laughter made all the more nightmarish by the twisted grin that distorts his face.  
True's hands fly to her mouth, her legs start to shake. She does nothing in the face of this cackling, horrific Wilkes, who in this moment is every bit the chaotic Haunter stereotype that I've heard.  
  
Though she flicks her wary eyes over to Wong, she stands, her fists glowing with electricity. She falters only once, when she trips before her jump up—but the attack hits home right against Wilkes's face. He doesn't even bother to dodge.  
  
He's taking this on purpose.  
  
If there are rules in this dojo that align with the league's, then fuck them. The room's a blur as I race from the rest of the team right into True. I slam Poké Balls with sure fists and accidentally recall Hyde and Britt before finally hitting home with Wilkes. Long after he's disappeared, I can hear his laughter.  
  
Only when he's disappeared does True crumble onto the floor, digging her hands in her hair.  
  
Wong is silent when he walks in front of her. I step between them, throwing my arms out and sparking. The heavy footsteps and rustling feathers are my only signs that Jackson and Clara have joined me until I feel their body heat.  
  
He offers a hand. True doesn't lift her face to see it, never mind take it.  
  
"Sabrina's Pokémon teleport so frequently, it is like dancing," Wong says. "You need a dancer to defeat her. Your Haunter is not a dancer. I don't believe he is even a fighter."  
  
 _"I welcome death. Someday you will die, and our Trainer will die... and with any luck, so shall I."_  
  
Had this been his plan this whole time? To string us along on this suicide mission, to break our hearts in the process? He'd been the one to guide us to Minka, he'd been the keeper of True's dreams, he'd—  
  
True suddenly stands up, her lip quivering and eyes red, and rubs a fist against her wet cheek. "Who do I have fight her, then?"  
  
I expect Wong to hesitate after that response. He doesn't. "Your Fearow."  
  
Clara arches her head up and caws, unfurling her huge wings. It's Jackson who poses the question, "Why?" If he notices Clara's angered grunt, he doesn't respond to it.  
  
Wei and the Hitmonlee step forward, replacing the shaken Medicham who wanders back to the sidelines. "A demonstration will speak louder than words. Do you accept?"  
  
True and Clara lock eyes for only seconds before they both nod. Clara springs into the air with just a pump of her wings, drowning out the memory of Wilkes's horrific laughter with her own determined cries.  
  
Wei adjusts his white tunic and faces us, hands securely on his hips. "Your aim will be to dodge our attacks. Listen to your body. Jump Kick."  
  
The room is huge, but I know that Clara is used to open skies when battling—here she has very little room to move around without brushing up against a light fixture or crashing into a mirror. She only just misses the Hitmonlee's first extended kick, and bats away the second with the edge of her wing.  
"Back, Brandon," Wei calls. "Shiva, catch it."  
  
The two fighting-types trade off with a slap of their hands in farewell. Shiva's eyes begin to glow a bright blue as she grounds herself, settling into a wide stance.  
  
"Don't," True starts to say, before biting off.  
  
It's Jackson who finishes the command: "Don't stop moving!"  
  
Shiva catches Clara in midair, to the Fearow's surprise. One high shriek is enough to startle the Medicham out of her focus; Clara's body is hers again as she spirals away before turning down.  
  
"Continue those circular movements!" Wei shouts. "Break free from the hold!"  
  
They drill on and on and on, Shiva catching Clara, Clara trying to fight out of her hold, Clara shuddering out of the attack and arching away. It lasts so long that Clara is panting when she finally lands, head drooped on the ground and tongue poking out from the side of her beak. Jackson is the first to rush to her; True is only seconds behind and runs trembling hands down Clara's beak and pressing kisses to the Fearow's cheek. She grumbles warmly and leans into their touches, smiling contently.  
  
Wei and Wong come together to meet us in the middle, matching expressions and body language. "That is what I mean by a dancer," Wei says. "Sabrina's a formidable battler. You must keep watch for an attack to come from any direction."  
  
True's hesitant in looking up to the two brothers, and when she does it's with a timid expression. "How many trainers are able to defeat her?"  
  
"We aren't the keepers of those secrets," Wong says. "All we can say is that you need to think outside of your 'hit first' mentality to secure victory."  
  
"In this match," Wei says, "and others down the line."  
  
The session we'd paid for lasts only two hours, and we use them to our fullest advantage. True's in too much of a shock for me to peel away for training, so I stay with her and watch as the others spin and twirl and shuffle. Britt has a match against the Hitmonlee that lasts ten minutes, and ends only when Brandon finally strikes her in the chest and pushes her down into submission. Both of them are panting hard, but when they get up there are matching smiles.  
  
"This was a good idea," I whisper in True's ear, as Jackson slams his tail against Shiva's ice-crusted fists. "Even Britt's having fun."  
  
She only gives me a smile before moving to work with Hyde, who is on his back in front of a sneering Hitmonchan. Wei pulls a remote from his pocket and points it to the small computer in the back—music starts to flood the space, high-energy pop that has even my exhausted feet tapping.  
  
We stretch to cool down, easing into poses. Jackson is sharing playful banter with Britt, who looks more satisfied than I've seen her lately as she rubs the dark patches on her feet. Hyde finally seems to have gotten the balance thing down, because he's standing up on one foot. Two pairs of his eyes meet mine and glow with excitement, as if to say that he is competent, that anyone can learn.  
  
I smile sadly at him before leaning back into True, who doesn't meet his or anyone else's smile.  
  


* * *

  
"Yes. No, seventh badge. Fargone. Number..."  
  
It might be two in the afternoon, but we've trained so hard in the past few hours and gone through so much that it comes as little surprise when True decides to take the rest of the day off. True keeps the rest of the team in their Poké Balls after we're all given a routine check-up and glance over. The others, weary and coming down off their highs, elect to stay in their balls. Maybe it's because True hasn't said a word since leaving the dojo or maybe it's me, because they don't meet our eyes as they're recalled.  
  
I press the wet cloth against the back of my neck again. Even with only doing the warm-up and cool-down exercises, my body aches. The cool pressure helps, and I have to fight to keep myself quiet when it comes over against my back. True glances up and furrows her brow as the voice on the other line chitters away.  
  
"Saturday. Yes, that'll be fine. Yes. Thank you."  
  
"Seems a little quick," I say, readjusting myself on the plush chair in the corner of the room.  
  
"It's only Monday," she says. "The sooner we can get out of here, the better."  
  
I wouldn't argue against her, but I catch her glancing over to the strip of photo-booth pictures on the bedside table: True and Sherri pressed up to the camera, all big smiles and silent giggles.  
  
"You know, we can stay here if you want to." I hesitate. "Seven badges—"  
  
"I've gone too far to quit now," she says, the words fierce even in their softness. She looks up at me. "We're doing all this training so we can be safe. That's why we're going back to the dojo. They had an appointment for Wednesday but I couldn't... I'm not going in there unprepared."  
  
True's belt of Poké Balls is right beside me, draped carefully over the arm chair in silent confirmation. I turn back to her nervously. "Even without Wilkes?"  
  
She's cross-legged on the bed; her hands fall in the empty space between her feet and her lap as she leans down. "Clara's always been strong. We'll be okay."  
  
I close my eyes and nod. The cool press has taken the edge off the pain in my thigh—maybe, just maybe, I can squeeze in a nap, and then...  
  
"Can you let him out?"  
  
But there's no way I'll be sleeping anytime soon, not now. "What do you think he's going to say? You  _knew_  he was..."  
  
I can't say the word. True understands me though, I know it. But my heart sinks when she shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. I need to talk to him."  
  
Maybe I could have resisted. But she sets her eyes on me and they're so fierce, so bright, that I can't not do as she asks. My hand, in stark contrast to the dojo, lightly taps on the button to release Wilkes. He materializes in between us, low to the ground and steely eyed.  
  
He looks like the Wilkes I have gotten to know. But nothing can divorce that image of mad, cackling Wilkes from my memory. Not in Saffron.  
  
"I don't apologize for what happened in the dojo," he says.  
  
True doesn't look up to him. "Do you apologize for anything?"  
  
She may not be able to look at him, but I can't turn away. I'm trying to find a sense of remorse, of guilt, but there's nothing that I can see past his stoic expression, his dead eyes. "For worrying you. For losing control the way I did."  
  
"But for taking those attacks?" I growl. "For wanting to... even though they hurt you? Even though you could have...?"  
  
"You would have left m—us," True says. "For what? What do you get out of it?"  
  
"It isn't something you would understand," he murmurs.  
  
"I was too hasty. That will not happen again."  
  
True jumps from the bed, hands shaking at her sides. "It won't. It won't because you aren't fighting in Sabrina's gym."  
  
Wilkes's pointed frown grows deeper. "I have a natural advantage—"  
  
"I don't trust you to fight against her!"  
  
I want to yell at him, too. I want to shock the daylights out of him. I want to go back into the past where we'd first met him and tell myself to trust my instinct, to knock the empty Poké Ball out of True's hesitant hand. Stereotyping had been my motivation then; now I know it was something more than that.  
  
True throws her arms out, just missing Wilkes's clawed hand. "I—I don't know if I trust you  _at all_  anymore. You hurt me. You hurt me and I hate you for it. I  _hate_ this."  
  
He looks up at this. "I cannot change—"  
  
"You'll be in my sight at all times. No more wandering around at night," she says quietly. There's a brief moment where she pushes her hands behind her head, bows her head to the floor.. "You're either right with me or Casey, or you're in your ball."  
  
This should surprise him. This should get a reaction out of him. But I know better; he simply closes his eyes and bows his head. "Very well, Master."  
  
True bites her lip, then turns back to the bed. "Recall him."  
  
His eyes are on mine when he disappears in a flash of light. True and I meet wary eyes before she crumples back onto the bed, bowing into shuddering sobs. We hold each other through the night, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you expecting CH61 to be a date: so did I. Date shenanigans will be further referenced and I will write it in an extra if it kills me, but I literally wrote the beginning five times before deciding "this isn't working, this isn't moving the story along, I'm going to cut it and just continue on." This is the first time that this has really happened in drafting Wonderwall and as frustrating as scrapping everything and pushing on was, I feel like it's going to make for a stronger story in the meantime. Everything I would have referenced in that chapter has places where it can show up again so it isn't too bad a loss. ~~except for the shippers. sorry loves~~
> 
> For those of you who are unfamiliar with Gen I mechanics: psychic types are stupidly overpowered. They have no counters. Some programming error meant that ghost attacks--who were supposedly put in to be super effective and act as a counter--are instead not very effective. And since the only ghost-types in Kanto are also part poison... yeah. Guess who forgot this while training up game Wilkes! Went to play with this on a few wild... Drowzee, it must have been, realized my mistake, and then bashed my head into the table for being so silly. That's the reason why I didn't use him in-game. In-story, I had to find another reason why True wouldn't bring him in and... yeah. Wilkes's overall personality has changed dramatically from conception to realization, but this moment in the fighting dojo (when he sparred against a Hitmonchan, who have garbage special attack and yet still made a dent in Wilkes when fighting) sparked that initial idea of writing a ghost-type who's a little... odd. For all of Wilkes's passiveness and stoic demeanor, Haunter are known as creepy pranksters. It felt right to write it.
> 
> Next chapter we'll be headed to the Saffron Gym, where _shit goes down._


	67. Chapter Sixty-Two

"You're sure you want to do this today?"  
  
We have three hours until our scheduled battle against Sabrina. The team had been fed and were just now getting the final glance-over from the nurses downstairs; we'd get a call up here when they were ready. Only after that had True gotten in the shower, stepping out from the steam with damp, red-rubbed skin. Now, not fifteen minutes later, True is crouched on her bed with only has her bra and panties on, her hands tangled in her hair. She's forcing her breathing to even out, and save a few hiccups it seems to be working. Not fast enough, though.  
  
There's clothing everywhere around the room, scattered and balled up and wrinkled. I bring a pair of pants and a wadded up shirt and drag them to the bed, where True's feet are dangling absently. "I bet if we call, they'll let you reschedule."  
  
"Give me a minute," she breathes, without ever looking up at me.  
  
She doesn't look at the phone when it rings either. I pick it up and answer Nurse Joy's message. When I put the receiver back in its cradle, I turn back to True. "The team's ready."  
  
"Okay."  
  
She'd been quiet since that Monday, but had been alert—she'd trained with Clara and the others in the dojo, and she'd answered Wong and Wei's questions. I'd made sure she'd eaten, and had gotten dressed, and otherwise took care of herself. When she releases Wilkes, just for an hour or so every day, she doesn't look at him. He hadn't looked at her, either. Hadn't looked at anyone. Just stared off into the distance.  
  
Now, with the rest of the team waiting for her and a gym match only hours away, she's finally broken.  
  
I wiggle up into her chest and hum. One hand comes down to brush my back; I can't help but notice the wiry strands caught between her fingers, tangled around her knuckles.   
  
Wilkes doesn't have to go looking for death. I'll give it to him, for hurting her like this.  
  
"Gym leaders become gym leaders because they know restraint," I tell her, because maybe if I say it I'll believe it, too. "And if you can't finish the fight, you walk away."  
  
She huffs. "You don't think I can do it?"  
  
I don't think training Pokémon is worth True losing her head and sanity over. Nothing is. It's not a question of whether or not she can do it—she can, I've seen her. It's how she'll be after she's made her choice that worries me raw.  
  
"I waited so long to go on this journey," she whispers. "To make something of myself. To be something special. And if I don't..."  
  
"You  _are_  special," I say. When she opens her mouth to retaliate, I quickly interject with, "And no, I'm not just sayin' that."  
  
"S'not what I was going to say," she mutters.  
  
"What was it, then?"  
  
She looks away without giving me an answer.  
  
"Just... just promise me you'll keep your head in there," I say. "Promise me you'll know when to stop."  
  
There's fear in her eyes when she meets mine. "What happens if I don't know how?"  
  
"To stop battling?" I swallow. "Do you want to?"  
  
She shakes her head, grabbing the pale blue shirt I've pulled for her. "I—no, I like battling. I know you don't, but I feel... Being here, it's..."  
  
I don't like being here, either. Saffron's full of tall buildings, so I can't pinpoint Silph Tower with any sort of certainty. But we've avoided the central part of the city for precisely that reason. They said they were going to build a memorial for the ones who had fallen during Chris's takeover. I don't think I can see Minka's name on it.  
  
Save Wilkes, I don't think any of us can.  
  
"The sooner we win against the gym," True breathes, "the sooner we can get out of here."  
  
She moves slowly, trying to flatten out the wrinkles in her top with her hands. Maybe she's forgotten that we have an iron in the room, but in this state of mind I doubt she'll hear me. A half hour passes before she's satisfied; she slings her backpack over her shoulder, takes a final look at the room, then sighs. "Ready to go?"  
  
I feel like I should be asking her that question. But I don't, just climb onto her other shoulder and say nothing at all.  
  
It takes five minutes to grab the team, who True keeps in their Poké Balls. It's for the best—at this time of day, Saffron City is packed with people and Pokémon winding through the streets. I feel vacuum packed, brushing shoulders with burly Machoke and men in suits and actors not quite out of their stage makeup, and judging by the set of True's shoulders, she's feeling the same. Once we have to duck in a back alley just to catch our breath, to get some space between ourselves and the outside world.  
  
That's one thing we won't have to worry about in the gym. According to True, we're supposed to arrive at the front door at precisely 3:00, no earlier and no later. The bronze building itself isn't hard to find, marked as it is by road signs and the pointed fingers of helpful residents. We spend a little time hovering on the street, throwing glances every time the door opens to a trainer.  
  
One passes us with his head held high, even with the slight tremble of his lip. The other speeds past us without a greeting, murmuring prayers under his breath.  
  
The alarm on True's Pokédex beeps in the side pocket of her backpack just as a bell begins to ring the top of the hour. 3:00.  
  
There is no receptionist desk for the Saffron Gym. There isn't a waiting room, either, but a short, wire-haired woman standing at the front door with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. She doesn't even look at us until we're only inches away, and then it's with dull gray eyes and pursed lips.  
  
"State your name," she says. True does so, holding her ID to her face. The woman looks up at the card, narrows her eyes, and turns back to the clipboard. "Competing for your seventh badge?"  
  
True nods. "I know it's a little… out of order, compared to other trainers, but—"  
  
"Nothing you say's going to phase me, kid," she says, and hands over a tiny stack of papers with a long, skinny pen. "Sign these."  
  
True does, though her hand shakes when she signs the liability form. She gets to the end, purses her lips, and flips the pages again. "Um. You don't need me to sign a media form?"  
  
"We don't display our matches to the Battle Network," says the woman. "If you're done, you can hand that over to me and step inside."  
  
Her hands won't stop shaking, not even when I press myself against her cheek. She balls them into fists at her sides and walks the short distance from the woman to the dark door. It must be heavy, because True has to strain against it for a few moments before it cracks open. A test of brawn before a test of brain, maybe.  
  
Out of all the battlefields we've battled on, I'm reminded most of Surge's. There are no ornate decorations, no stands filled with cheering crowds, nothing to distract our minds from the task ahead. Just a warm-colored room and a stone battlefield, brightly lit by lights that ring along the edges of the walls. I feel my nails dig into True's bare shoulder, hear her wince at the sharp pain. "Sorry," I mutter.  
  
"I'm nervous enough for the both of us," she whispers, as if that's supposed to soothe me.  
  
The only permanent fixture in the room is a large dark chair and the woman sitting in it, who looks up at us with pale hands on her dark knees. There's an Alakazam standing beside her, who twitches his mustache once he sees us. The seated woman brushes her dark purple bangs out of her eyes before gesturing us forward with a softly glowing hand. "Welcome back to the city, True Fargone."  
  
We'd never met. How can she know?  
  
"Chris and I were intimately involved in the takeover of Silph," she answers, as if she plucked the question from my mind. "He told me a lot about you."  
  
"I'm only here to earn your badge," True grits. "Then I'm leaving."  
  
There's something off about Sabrina's smile—too much teeth for such stretched-thin lips. "You're confident that you'll win?"  
  
True's only reply is to grab Clara's Poké Ball off her belt and send it skyward. The Fearow materializes in a blazing flash of light and announces herself with a caw that echoes in the empty tiled room.  
  
"That's good," Sabrina says. "Key!"  
  
I don't see the Poké Ball fly into the air, just the tiny Abra appear from the flash of light. Dark eyes blink open for a moment before a sly smile stretches across his pointed jaw and he—disappears?  
  
"Stay on alert," True murmurs. "Get ready with Drill Peck."  
  
Wind begins to zip around Clara's pointed beak. She spreads her wings wide open but crouches low to the ground, readying herself for take-off.  
  
There's no flash of light signaling the Abra's reappearance, just a small brown body floating just feet away from the ceiling. Clara springs from the ground with just a flap of her huge wings, barreling up to the tiled roof—  
  
"Teleport."  
  
Even with my eyes trained on the tiny Abra, I miss her blinking out of the way. Clara only just manages to avoid a painful collision with the light fixtures by bending her body out of the way, pulling into the tightest turn I've ever seen her make. She whips her head around warily, her talons and eyes gleaming in the light above.  
  
"Stay focused," I call to her, as True grunts a wary, "Keep alert."  
  
Key blinks into being right in front of Clara, flashing a sly grin from his tiny mouth. Clara only has a second to jab, and she takes it, hitting home across the tiny psychic fox's cheek. Key makes no sound but falls to the ground, Clara in hot pursuit. He Teleports away again and this time Clara can't break fast enough—she crashes to the floor with a groan. When she rises, her wings dragging slightly behind her, it's with Key slumped over her shoulders, panting.  
  
"You did well," Sabrina says softly, and Key disappears yet again. She must notice my look of confusion—or True's, I can see her furrowed brow from the corner of my eye—because she raises her head. "He'll be fine. Fey."  
  
She doesn't have a Poké Ball in her hands, no ways to summon her battlers—but maybe she does. The Kadabra that materializes in front of her doesn't seem to mind the sudden summons, just straightens herself and brushes one side of her bushy moustache with her gleaming silver spoon. She's brawnier than Michaela, I can't help but notice, with a bushier tail and bigger eyes. I almost expect her to say something to me but her attention is focused only on Clara, who has pushed herself back up with a grunt.  
  
True swallows, huffs, then calls for another Drill Peck.  
  
She isn't going as quickly as she had been before, though the attack seems to hit for home. Fey sidesteps the brunt of the attack but is caught by the broad side of Clara's wing. The wide wing masks the brunt of the action—someone screeches and I smell blood. Clara's blown back by a burst of psychic energy but she isn't the only one who's been injured: Fey's holding her shoulder, red dripping over golden brown fingers.  
  
"Psybeam, Fey."  
  
"Spin away from it!" True yells. "Fly!"  
  
True's thundering heart is loud enough to drown out Clara's furious shrieking, the Kadabra's shriek as her talons mark his abdomen. The two part ways and land in states of exhaustion: Fey groans on the ground, holding one clawed paw to her stomach, while Clara is crouching and panting heavily, her wings like cement bricks beside her.  
  
"Can you keep going?" True yells. Clara must take this as an attack, because she dives forward, striking the point of her beak against the stick-like thigh of the arched Kadabra. She howls and throws a glance to Sabrina. When she nods, Fey disappears in a golden blur.  
  
I've never seen anything like this instant teleportation. It's unnerving. But Sabrina doesn't seem bothered by it at all, and just looks on to us with that same offsetting smile. "I don't see many Fearow in my gym. Not at this late stage. She's good."  
  
The words fall on deaf ears. True's already gestured Clara back to her side of the battlefield, rifling through her backpack. She pulls out a brightly packaged bottle and sprays it over Clara's shoulders and head with one hand; the other is pressed lovingly against Clara's cheek. "You'd tell me if you were too hurt to fight, wouldn't you?"  
  
She scoffs, then turns back to the battlefield. The Alakazam who had been at Sabrina's side is now standing in the ring; the silver spoons in its hands gleam threateningly. Right when I meet his dark eyes I feel a pressure along the side of my head. It doesn't fade when I break eye contact.  
  
"This is my last Pokémon," Sabrina says. "Will you be staying with your first?"  
  
There's something brewing in the pit of my stomach as Clara rises back up to her whole height and experiments with her wings. They don't seem to be giving her much trouble now. That weariness hasn't left her eyes, though. "Don't push yourself," I tell her.  
  
Clara's cry, sturdy and piercing, answers both questions. She hops back up into the air with a burst of wind and rushes the Alakazam—  
  
"Reflect."  
  
The shimmering screen materializes with seconds to spare, taking the brunt of the attack. Clara slams head first into the Reflect, falling at the psychic fox's feet. I watch with my heart in my lungs as the Alakazam jumps effortlessly into the air, its silver spoons flashing with multicolored light. The beam hits Clara against one extended wing; Clara's shriek echoes in the empty room as she falls down again.  
  
"Get up," I whisper.  
  
I'm shivering on True's trembling shoulders, biting my lip when she calls Clara to "Fly!"  
  
Clara struggles for a few horrible moments. True's hand is on her Poké Ball, and the Fearow must see this because she shrieks horribly, her huge blue eye fixated on True's wide green ones. It takes everything in me to keep myself on her shoulder, to not slam my tail down on True's hand, to recall Clara myself. She's staring at me, too, as she pushes herself off the ground and unsteadily gains altitude.  
  
But maybe she'll be able to do this, I think, as she swerves back up into the air, her great wide wings beating as she climbs to the ceiling. Just one finishing blow.  
  
"Hit it!" True shouts.  
  
Just a nice, clean—  
  
"Psychic."  
  
Bright blue light envelops every inch of her body, holding her firmly in place. Time stops. It's the only reason I can think as to why I'm not breathing, why Clara isn't moving. She doesn't make a sound, doesn't move. Just hangs in the air like a statuette suspended on strings.  
  
It's wrong to see her like this, so still and silent—Clara may not speak but she's vibrant, kinetic, full of life. She can't meet my eyes or move a muscle but that doesn't stop me from feeling fear radiating off from her in waves.  
  
The glow disappears and Clara falls to the ground. Crumbles without even a whisper. There's a flash of white light but I don't know where it comes from. Not from the Alakazam who has straightened his body, looking warily at the bird collapsed in a pile on the floor. Not from Sabrina, who has started to uneasily push herself out of her chair.  
  
Lots of things happen at once. True falling to her knees, her head buried in her hands, and me falling to the floor beside her. The room spiking in temperature. It's not when I hear him roaring that I realize that the white light from moments ago was Jackson materializing—True must have let him out, but if she knows this she doesn't show it. She can't pull her eyes out of her palms.  
  
I can't look away. Jackson shrieks and dashes toward the Alakazam, his long claws glowing white-hot, and rips new scars into the Alakazam's chest. There's a flash of green as the scars heal, though there's still traces of blood in the dark brown fur. An icy fist slams into the side of Jackson's head; Jackson howls before slamming his tail into the Alakazam's side. They meet with yowls and shrieks and even Sabrina's looking concerned, her hands like vices on her knees.  
  
It's a blur, orange-red and brown and it's so hot, it's  _so hot_  and there's no screen separating me from this, True's not doing anything and Clara's still on the ground and Jackson is howling, in grief or in rage or maybe in all of this, I don't know. I don't  _know_  and that's what's terrifying me. I don't realize I'm screaming until Sabrina is completely out of her chair, has suddenly appeared in front of True with shaking knees and wary eyes. "It's stopped," she says softly. "Now if you'll—"  
  
The electricity comes too quickly, rips out of me like a sword from a scabbard. Even this winds me. The blast ends right at Sabrina's side, filling her sheet of dark hair with frizzing static. If she notices, she doesn't show it. True doesn't notice this, True's shivering beside me but I'm staring at Jackson who has Clara's head in his hands, foreheads pressed together, and it's too much.  
  
She'd been tired but she'd fought anyway, True hadn't pulled her out,  _I_  hadn't pulled her out, she was going to die and I was going to have to watch and this would be so much different than Minka or Peter or Kerri, too much like my—  
  
"You need to get up," Sabrina says. To me, to True, I don't know. But I'm the one who answers with another bolt of electricity. Violet energy engulfs the woman's hand as a barrier comes up, reflecting the blast; it explodes against the far wall, away from any of us. "You need—"  
  
"We don't need anything!" I scream, because True isn't, because Jackson's going to have someone else die right in front of him and we'd just made progress, and Saffron City is quickly becoming the City of Death. "We need—Clara, she's—"  
  
The high-pitched coo is weak, so weak that I almost don't recognize it at first. Not True, who has looked up slightly from her hands. Not Sabrina. Not me. Not Jackson, who has lifted his head to look quizzically at Clara in his clawed, shaking hands.  
  
I don't believe it until I see her move, until I see her beak part to nip the arm of Jackson's wing.  
  
Everything blurs. Jackson gathers her in his arms violently, burying his nose into her shoulder—she flinches at his but he doesn't let go, just starts shaking. If I wasn't on the ground now I would be. Clara slumps deeper into Jackson's embrace, coughing so violently that both of them shake. I'm shaking too, because this is too much, there is  _no way_. But there is.  
  
She won't be a Minka, or a Kerri or a Peter. She's a  _Clara_ , a survivor. What else should I have expected?  
  
"She needs help," Jackson yells, as he struggles to his feet. Clara has no balance, no strength, is standing only because Jackson is literally holding her upright.  
  
There's a Hyper Potion in True's bag, that will help her until we can get to the Pokémon Center. Jackson's got Clara, Clara's awake, Clara's... she's not going to end up like Minka if we get her back to Joy and the nurses. I stand uneasily on my feet and walk over to True, who still hasn't moved, maybe still hasn't noticed Sabrina standing in front of her.  
  
"Clara needs medicine," I whisper to her. "You have to get up. It's over."  
  
True murmurs something low under her breath, so softly that I can't even begin to understand her. I tug at one of the backpack straps but she flinches away, tangling her hands deeper into her hair.  
  
"McKey," Sabrina says, "get a Hyper Potion."  
  
I don't care who McKey is. True still isn't talking to me. True isn't  _doing_  anything. "You need to look at me," I say. "Clara's fine, you hear me? She's—she had a scare, and now she needs you t'come over and help."  
  
"I'll assist you with your Clara," Sabrina says, and extends a hand. At first I think it's an offer of help, one that True doesn't see—then I see the gold badge glistening in her palm and understand. "I've wanted to speak with you for a while. If you—"  
  
True slams her hands to the ground and looks up, light catching her teary cheeks. She stumbles into standing, flushed and breathing raggedly. "Don't," she whispers, and walks uneasily from the battlefield. But even off-balance, she's fast. I take a few tentative steps toward her and call her name, but she doesn't stop. When I pick up my pace, she turns to face me, walking on her heels. "Don't follow me."  
  
I understand the words. I understand the meaning. I don't understand why she's saying this, not to me.  
  
She looks up back to the battlefield, where Jackson and Clara must be staring—I wouldn't know, I'm too busy looking at the way her face folds in on itself, watch her press her back against the heavy door. She's like a frightened Rattata with nowhere to run, hands scrabbling for the door handle.  
  
The words explode out of me, like lightning. With lightning, from the flash of light against the stone floor. "You can't just walk away from this!  _True!_ "  
  
She meets Sabrina's eye, not mine. The gym leader nods, whispering something under her breath.  
  
My feet are fused to the floor. It's the only excuse I have for not running after her, long after the door has closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As explained in the note last chapter, I didn't bring in Wilkes because of the dumb Gen I glitch; instead I chose to exploit the Alakazam line's horrible physical defenses and chose Clara, who at that point was my fastest physical hitter. Abra and Kadabra went down without the chance to land an attack, and I was starting to feel pretty confident with myself by the time Alakazam came out.
> 
> Cue the psychic.
> 
> I still have no idea how Clara survived--she literally had 2HP when it was done with. I subbed her immediately for Jackson while Alakazam... did something, I didn't write it down in my notes because I was so scared. Jackson destroyed it with a crit Slash and I walked out with my badge and a newfound appreciation for Fearow.
> 
> While playing the game, I did follow the "traditional route" and defeated Sabrina before going over to kick Blaine's ass. It just happened to work better for the story for us to go to Saffron after Blaine. Next time, we'll get some more angst and maybe a few fluffs as well on a special "I've spent two years of my life on this dumb run wtf" update. :)


	68. Chapter Sixty-Three

_Bang. Bang._  
  
"I'm not letting those doors open for you," Sabrina says.  
  
 _Bang bang bang._  
  
Clara coos softly as I say, "It's not worth it, Jackson, c'mere."  
  
 _Bangbangbangbang—_  
  
It's been half an hour since True had left us behind. Clara's fully conscious now but still unable to move much on her own. The empty Hyper Potion lays innocently enough at her side; I'm on the other, my eyes flicking between the angry Charizard and the stoic Gym Leader on opposite ends of the gym floor.  
  
Sabrina grips the ends of her chair with tense hands. "If you can just take a moment—"  
  
Jackson slams his fists back into the steel door, which has not yielded to his furious pounding, before furiously pushing away. Bits of fire escape from the ends of his mouth as he whips toward us. "If you hadn't hurt Clara, she wouldn't have run away!"  
  
I've seen Jackson go absolutely limp under True's touch, docile like a newborn Mareep; I've also seen him rampage like a bucking Tauros. There's no gentleness in his eyes now—his pupils are blown as he snarls at Sabrina, paying no mind to my tense muscles or Clara's worried warbles. It doesn't seem to matter—Sabrina's not only meeting his gaze but isn't backing away, just stares at him with her chin pointed up. "My Pokémon are trained not to fatally injure their opponents."  
  
But accidents happen. Clara could have been an accident. It's why trainers sign all the agreement forms—the gyms aren't held responsible if, Arceus forbid, the worst should happen. The  _League_  isn't held responsible.  
  
The Alakazam at Sabrina's side shifts his stance, one long-fingered hand on his trainer's shoulder. The dark-haired woman stands up, swaying slightly and grabbing her partner at his bulky shoulder. After a moment she says, "Perhaps it'd be best if you went to wait for your trainer at the Center."  
  
"What if she comes back here?"  
  
"What if she goes to the Center and doesn't see her remaining Pokémon there? You'd have her worry?"  
  
He yowls a wordless dissent and moves forward, the flame on his tail burning white-hot. Clara's caw, ricocheting off the gym ceilings, does not stop him.  
  
But he does once I've stepped in front of him. We're both surprised—his eyes have grown sun-wide and I'm shaking. He looks down at me with confusion in every line of his face. "What're you doing?"  
  
I don't know. The world still feels like it's been ripped under me. I know I can't ignore the thundering of my heart, or the pressure of built-up electricity in my cheeks, as I look up at him. "I think they're right. I think you should go."  
  
The momentary confusion melts back into familiar anger. "You can't trust them—"  
  
"She took the others with her, didn't she?" I ask, pointedly ignoring his question. "So she's either going to come back here, to pick us up, or she's gonna go to the Center. One of us needs to be at each place, and then we'll get the other."  
  
He worries his lip—I've never seen him do this before. I smell the blood that the sharp teeth draw from the thin skin; he runs his pink tongue over the torn flesh. "And if they're doing something funny?"  
  
"You just beat the strongest of them," I say, and force a smile. "Remember the red roof of the Center? If they don't take you there, that's where you go."  
  
He looks distrustfully toward Sabrina—when I turn to see her, she's eyeing us with interest, her hands folded at her waist. "I'll speak to the nurses so you can be with your Clara. Will that satisfy you?"  
  
Jackson growls. He turns to Clara, who must nod her head or do something. I'm wholly focused on his slipping face. "You're sure True'll come back?"  
  
Breathe, Case. "When hasn't she?"  
  
After a few long moments, he nods and goes to stand beside Clara. She brushes her head against his hand—how can she be so trusting, even now?—and he practically melts, brushing cheeks. It takes only a wordless command from Sabrina for a Kadabra to materialize from the nothingness and stand beside the two winged Pokémon. After a low threat from Jackson, she's allowed to place her slender hand on Jackson's thigh. The three disappear in a blink.  
  
Sabrina settles back into her chair with a sigh, rubbing her temples with her thumbs. She looks up only at a touch from her Alakazam, who disappears and reappears with a tiny white bottle and a juice pouch. I only just see the flash of two yellow pills before she slips them into her mouth, chases them down with a long drag from her pouch. "Bad day for a dizzy spell," I hear her murmur, before she meets my eyes. "So. You'll be staying with us?"  
  
There's no one to be calm for now. I fire another lightning bolt against the tiled ground, where it ricochets and strikes and dissipates against the wall. "You tell me where True is and I get out of here. I'm not staying any longer than I have to."  
  
This doesn't seem to surprise her. She takes another drag of her juice before saying, "Saffron City is large, so it'll take us a while. For now, you're welcome to rest while I take other challengers."  
  
How the hell is she supposed to battle  _and_  listen for True at the same time? How am I supposed to trust this woman I've never met with something as important as this? If I  _knew_  where she was, could trust my nose or—  
  
Pressure builds in my forehead. A deep voice in my head rumbles, [Relax your mind. This is what she means by rest.]  
  
"I could if you'd get out of my head," I hiss.  
  
"That's enough. McKey," Sabrina says, and rubs her temple. "Take him down to my den. I'll tell the others to send word there for Miss Fargone and, after my challenges, meet you down there."  
  
The two meet eyes for a long, tense moment, long enough for me to look back toward the door. I know for sure I'm not strong enough to push the door open, heavy as it is. There aren't any windows to jump through, no tiles to slip under. I feel trapped in this cavernous room and that, more than anything, has me on edge.  
  
Now that I'm listening for it, I hear the psychic shimmering of a Pokémon teleporting. I turn to see another Alakazam, slightly darker with shorter whiskers, take McKey's place at Sabrina's side. McKey throws one last look to his bowed trainer before turning to me. [I can either teleport you there, or—]  
  
"Walk," I bite out. "I need to walk."  
  
Maybe I had expected him to hover beside me; instead he lopes beside me with a His light footfalls match mine as he guides me through a tiny hallway, easily missed if you weren't looking for it. It only takes a flick of his pencil-thin wrist to open the door at the far end of the hallway, feet before we've even made it to the threshold. We walk into a room that's lit only by Clefairy lights, twinkling in the semidarkness. The only pieces of furniture are a large, squishy-looking sofa and a table bearing several unlit candles; most of the room is dominated instead with thick rugs that I sink into with each step.  
  
[When her spells get particularly bad, or when she is very stressed, she'll come down here to recenter herself.]  
  
It's funny—I'm equal parts furious and terrified for her, and yet the only thing I can think of is how much True could use a room like this. "Spells?"  
  
[The doctors I've spoken with say it's an inability to keep her balance. Sometimes it's paired with migraines and nausea. It's something that she must live with.]  
  
Like True's attacks. I turn to see the Alakazam settle on the sofa, crossing his legs in front of him. He pats the side to gesture me forward, but I stay right by the door, still trying to take everything in. "And she'll be okay?"  
  
[You have no reason to doubt Sabrina,] he says kindly. [I'm not the only one of her Pokémon who's trained to assist her in this way. Between Sabrina and the Abra, I have no doubt that we'll find your True. You have nothing to fear.]  
  
I have everything to fear in this city. Former Rockets, maybe, if they haven't been rounded up—as soon as I think it, though, I turn to the Alakazam who watches me with guarded eyes.  
  
He only lifts his brow quizzically, his huge mustache twitching. [I won't enter your thoughts until you allow me.]  
  
It's a huge contrast from Michaela, who can't seem to help herself. Like I'm a buffet and she's starving. I take a deep breath. "Did you have to train very hard for that?"  
  
[Yes. Years and years, even after evolving.] He sets his spoons onto the table in front of him before lounging back on the couch. [But you have other questions.]  
  
"I thought you said you wouldn't read my mind."  
  
[I only have to look at your face. You've had them for a while since we first met.]  
  
This is the first time we've come to this gym. This is the first time I've met an Alakazam. This is the last time I want to meet an Alakazam.  
  
[You don't remember.] He chuckles. [I shouldn't be surprised; the takeover was more chaotic than any of us had planned.]  
  
It comes back to me in flashes—Michaela appearing out of nowhere to take a dazed Cassidy away; Minka collapsing; Jackson evolving; Minka vanishing in a flash, the last time I'd seen her alive. "You were—"  
  
[The one who took her away, yes. And the one who would have presented her to you at the ceremony, if you and your team had been there. I understood why you weren't,] he says, as I open my mouth to protest. [More than anyone, I think, Sabrina and I understood. There are limits that cannot be pushed. You were wise to not attempt breaking them.]  
  
"We would've been out there longer if you hadn't found us," I growl. "We needed to be there. After—Tanza came with Minka's..." I can't even say the word. "With the rest of her. He didn't need to do that. We didn't need him to do that."  
  
[But he did. And you did.]  
  
He's too calm. I can't fire another thunderbolt without disturbing this place—I could, but it would be wrong, because it isn't mine, because I can't be destructive to prove my point. So I growl low under my breath, exhale harshly, and slap my cheeks. "Did she... did Minka—"  
  
[She was able to come to terms with everything that would happen.] His eyes, when I'm finally able to meet them, are horribly gentle. [From what another Kadabra told me, she did not suffer.]  
  
I blame the pressure from this psychic connection for my watering eyes. "I shouldn't thank you for that."  
  
[You don't have to.]  
  
He doesn't say anything when I wipe my eyes, and I don't know if that should make me angry or not. "So you were... you were there? Does that mean Sabrina...?"  
  
[She helped to orchestrate the takeover. We've had our suspicions—increased crime rates in the city, the continual rise of Pokémon imports—for a while, but it was only recently that we decided to act upon them. Chris and the other members of the League might have been the spear, but we were the thrusting hand. And in a way, that makes us responsible for everything that happened.]  
  
There's bile on my tongue when I look back up at him. "For killing and endangering others?"  
  
[For the vanquishing of a terrorist organization? For exposing detrimental modifications to medicine that was slowly killing us? For saving the lives of many at the cost of a few?] McKey stands up from the couch, still bowed over the coffee table. [Yes, we take responsibility for that.]  
  
"They didn't have to die to realize that! They—" I'm grasping at straws; I might understand but there's something cathartic in arguing right now. "There were kids in there who didn't—who might've turned out differently. Pokémon who were just following orders, who loved their kids and didn't know what they were doing was wrong! You did things just 'cause that's the way you always do 'em, with suffering and—"  
  
[Grief has not been kind to you,] he says, and even the voice is gentle and quiet now. [It will be ten years since your brother's death, correct?]  
  
"Leave him out—"  
  
[I cannot claim to know Al, but I know Chris, who turned his sorrow into strength to lead the Pokémon League and make changes that, ultimately, benefit trainers and Pokémon alike. I know Tanza, who did not let his love for Al corrupt him. Two minutes with you is all I need to know that you have allowed your grief to consume you.]  
  
"My brother  _died!_ "  
  
[So did my father, in a battle for territory. I say that not to belittle your pain,] he says, when I open my mouth to retaliate, [but to explain—]  
  
"That I'm not the only one who's lost someone, I get it, that's not—you—" I hold my head in my paws, close my eyes tightly. "Y'don't understand."  
  
He tilts his head. [Make me.]  
  
"He wasn't..." I rub my eyes with the back of my paw and flinch at the shiny tears smeared into the fur. My shuddering breaths make way for words that roll into each other. "He was s'posed to come back t'me. He was gonna go on his journey and he was gonna... gonna come to the lab, go back to Sinnoh, be... be okay. Be something. I don't know," I whisper, suddenly feeling ragged and spent. "It's been so long I don't know what I wanted 'im to be. Just... not gone."  
  
It takes McKey a long time to answer me; when he does, it's with a gentleness that should be off-putting. It isn't. It reminds me of Cassidy, horrifically calm and at ease. [When was the last time you expressed this? Out loud?]  
  
The last time I talked about Al had been months ago, with Cassidy—that had been singing his praises, taking a moment to cool off after Chris had unexpectedly dropped back into my life. But this reasoning, these words... I don't think I've ever said them out loud.  
  
So it doesn't quite surprise me when McKey says, [You've bottled this up for so long that you don't know how to divorce yourself from it.]  
  
Wilkes said something similar, I think. I can't remember. "I've been grieving him for so long," I whisper. "I don't think I can."  
  
[That is something you must discover for yourself.]  
  
He looks as though he's about to add something else before the door opens. We both turn to see Sabrina, much steadier on her feet though still a little flushed, peering at us from the lit hallway. "We found her. She's safe, with a friend."  
  
I can't think of who she'd be with, but that's not the important part. I breathe a sigh and look up. "Can I see her?" I ask.  
  
Sabrina shakes her head. "She needs time. But by tonight she'll be back in the Pokémon Center. We can take you back to your room if you'd like, or you're free to walk back."  
  
I fall to the ground, all strength sapped. How much time does she need? Where is she? "But she's safe?"  
  
[She's safe,] McKey says, resting a hand on my shoulder. [She should be back to you soon.]  
  
"Here?"  
  
Sabrina shakes her head. "My Abra have told her that you'll join her at the Pokémon Center. Does that please you?"  
  
All I know is that I don't want to be in this den, in this gym, in this city anymore. So I nod.  
  
I don't see the Abra materialize beside me, but I feel her nails dig into my freckled arms. I feel space tighten around me, like one of True's hugs. This isn't a comfort. I can't breathe, can't even move—and then suddenly I can. I take in stale air in big, greedy gulps, and collapse on the floor. I see the nameless Abra flash a wink before disappearing into the nothingness, leaving me alone in the Center room. There are still pants and shirts scattered on the floor. We'd turned the lights off before leaving; I'm too exhausted to get the chair and push it over to climb up and turn them off. A few weak streams of light filter through the spaces in the heavy curtains, but in time they fade to nothing.  
  
I lose track of time. I think I sleep, mostly, in fits and starts that leave me more exhausted than before. I could try and move the chair over to open the door to go check on Clara and Jackson, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it. And then after that, to walk down the stairs and into the healing rooms. The clock on the nightstand is flashing 9:43. What time had it been when the Abra had brought me here? Is it still even the same day?  
  
There's nothing to do but nibble on one of the food packs and torture myself waiting for the door to open.  
  
I must have fallen asleep again, because my eyes have to open when I hear voices on the other side of the door. Low voices with words that slink through the cracks. "...sure you'll be okay?"  
  
"...I'll call..."  
  
"...be safe."  
  
There's a soft click before the door opens. I stare warily at True, who slips her backpack off her shoulder and lightly tosses it to the nearest corner of the room. It's hard to see her in the half light—I hadn't bothered to turn the lights on. I see her hand twitch toward the light switch, but at the last second she pulls the hand back to her chest.  
  
"You're back."  
  
True closes the door behind her, then presses her body against it. "I'm back."  
  
I've never felt like more of a stranger than I do right now, staring at True. Now that the light from the hallway is gone, my eyes can adjust to the semi-darkness again. She blinks back at me with a timid gleam in her eyes, like she's fearing what I'll do or say. That hurts me more than anything. "Sabrina said she found you with someone," I murmur. "Was that them at the door?"  
  
She wraps herself in her arms, looks down at the floor. "Yeah." Before I can ask, she says, "Preston found me first, but he... Sherri, I was... I was with Sherri."  
  
I should be fine with this. She wasn't alone, she was  _safe_ , as safe as anyone in this city could be even if she doesn't have Pokémon, because isn't friendship better than slavery? But if Sherri was the one who found her, what the fuck does that mean for me? "Were you... are you...?"  
  
"I had an attack," she whispers. "From the running and... and everything that happened in the gym." She uncurls one hand to wipe it messily over her tearing eyes.  
  
"She helped you?"  
  
True nods, her breath hitching. "She tried. Just... held me. Let me talk. Took me out for food."  
  
There's a bitterness on my tongue when I say, "Some second date."  
  
Her cheeks blaze red; her laugh, when it comes, hitches in all the wrong places. "She said she had a girlfriend who'd do the same thing for her. I didn't ask what kind."  
  
"Of thing?"  
  
"Of... anyway," she says, looking to the tangled mess of blankets on the bed. She doesn't move toward them, just stands there with her arms wrapped around herself. There's a chasm between us that we can't seem to cross. "Clara'll need a lot of rest. We, um... we won't be able to use her in battles for a while, but. She'll be okay."  
  
I haven't gone down to see her yet. She probably just wants Jackson—he knows what it's like to be injured in battle, and they're close. That's fine with me. I don't think I could face them anyway. I don't think I can face True right now, really, but she's here and I have to. "And Jackson?"  
  
"He was mad at me a bit. I don't blame him," she says, because she must catch my narrowed eyes. "I'm mad at me, too."  
  
True had left, but only after knowing that Clara was going to be okay. She'd come back, but she'd gone in the first place. She'd left us in a gym with strangers and with no way to contact her, we'd had to send out a pack of Abra who knew nothing, who—  
  
"I need some time," she murmurs. "I need to think about things. But, um. I found a flight service in the south side of the city. It'll cost a lot, but as soon as Clara's able to leave the Center... I think we'll go home."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "I didn't think you wanted to go back."  
  
"I don't, but I can't stay here anymore. Sherri's... she's wonderful," she says, and there's a flash of a smile on her face when she says this that sparks something dark in me. It disappears as quickly as it had come. "But she isn't a reason to stay. We aren't staying with my mom and... I talked to the Professor before I came up here, and he said he had a room to loan us for however long we needed. And it'll be good, there's a bunch of open space—Clara'll like that, and Britt can go swimming and train with Jackson and—"  
  
"Are you going to challenge the gym in Viridian?"  
  
She takes a deep, shuddering breath. Tears spill down her cheeks. There's only a lump in my throat when I realize this.  
  
"I don't know. Battling's the only thing that makes me feel like I'm worth something. And before this—this gym, I used to think I was good at it.  _Really_  good. But now it's just... I need to think about it. With just me, and maybe Professor Oak, and the others."  
  
Maybe the others means the rest of the team. Not Wilkes, even if he's still a battling member. But Hyde and Jackson and Clara and Britt, they're the ones who want to fight, who will literally let themselves be torn up and burned and nearly killed. It's their decision to make. It isn't mine.  
  
"And maybe I'll go see my mom, but I don't... I can't stay with her, not anymore. And I need time to think, and I need time to talk, and I just." She wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. "You're really mad, and I—I un-understand that, but I need you to... I don't know, to say something?"  
  
I look back down to my feet and try to force words to come.   
  
"Because I used to tell you everything, and now I don't, and I don't know how that happened and I don't—I don't  _want_  it to happen anymore. But I need..."  
  
To go make sure Clara's still alright. To really think about what she wants to do with the rest of her life.  
  
"Tell me everything's gonna be alright, Casey," she whimpers. "Tell me that Minka and Kerri and Peter, all those Pokémon in Silph, everything... tell me it wasn't all for nothing."  
  
I should be at her side. I should be soothing her. But something's keeping my paws to the bed, something's keeping me from seeing her as True. Because for everything I told Jackson, that she would always come back, right now she's still missing. And right now, I don't know if I can be strong enough to go and find her.  
  
"Right now," I say to the floor, "let's get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll go back."  
  
She slides down the wall into a ball and buries her head in her hands. I settle into the blankets and turn myself away from her tears.


	69. Chapter Sixty-Four

Even at her fastest, Clara would have taken a day and a half to fly from Saffron to Pallet Town. On the rental Pidgeot, we take seven hours. It doesn't feel like seven—it feels _long_ , scrunched up tightly against True's taut belly, as the sun climbs higher and higher into the sky. We move too quickly at too high an altitude to see landmarks: there are only floods of green and blue and brown that I can only just see through tears.  
  
We make our descent at the hottest hour of the day, over a Pallet Town that has browned a little from a particularly hot summer. The trees are there, and the little retired ladies watering their flowers and herbs are there, and a pale blot on a fence that can only Mrs. Smith's crotchety pet Meowth is there, guarding the gate against any curious Pidgey. The winding sandy trails and tiny shops and the northern entrance to Route One and the brick-red schoolhouse, they're all there as if I'd never left.  
  
It doesn't feel familiar.  
  
As we descend, I can see more heads craning up to meet us. I didn't think it was possible for True's grip to tighten, but it does—I'm pressed between belly and feathers as we dive through a break in the canopy, just as True had requested. It's an easy landing, light for a bird as massive as our mount. I land on the ground a shuddering mess—it may have been a smooth flight but we'd gone _fast_ , and it feels bizarre to be back on solid unmoving ground.  
  
She doesn't move until True and I have slid off her back, have grabbed the backpack from the saddle on her side. "That gonna be all?"  
  
True's hands are shaking as she shoulders her pack, experimentally shifting her weight on each leg to test the feeling. "Yeah. Thanks again for, um, dropping us off here."  
  
"I could tell you stories about worse places. Tootle-oo then, sweetheart," she chuckles, and flies off with a burst of wind.  
  
True watches her go with a longing in her eyes that burns. She's still looking up at the sky when she says, "Guess it's like old times again."  
  
How often had she walked me back to the lab after a day of running through these hills, climbing these trees, basking by the river? How often had I walked her back home after an episode, after hours spent howling under the blazing summer sun? This should feel normal.  
  
“Shall we?” I ask, more a polite gesture than a genuine question. I think she knows it too, because she gives only the slightest nod and waits for me to make the first step.  
  
My feet remember the way back; True follows me silently. But it all feels mechanical, it feels expected. When we finally pass the crest of the hill, limbs aching, to the impressive white-walled laboratory, it is with a nervous energy that does not, should never, belong here.  
  
We start passing familiar landmarks: a perfect basking rock, a tree with roots that lift feet off the ground. True rests her head on the sturdy trunk of a tree she had spent one summer climbing all the way to its highest branches. “We should probably say hi to the Professor first.”  
  
Before what, I want to ask. But instead I say, “Probably should do that, yeah.”  
  
There isn't a reception area for the laboratory, just a buzzer on a door at the front of the building that is rarely answered. Anyone who has actual business inside uses the side door, which takes a key code. True punches it in with trembling fingers and listens for the click on the other side of the heavy door. True braces against it, muscles it open into the receiving room.  
  
"Everything's categorized by city and then by _street name_ , how hard is it to figure out..."  
  
It's a small receiving room so there's no missing the rod-thin man. He's grown out his hair and his beard since I last saw him—which makes no sense, because how can he change that much in so little time?—and it flies magnificently around him as he flails and growls. "How hard is it to figure out _destination by street?_ Specificity works!"  
  
I clear my throat loudly. He hears the noise and perks up to us, mouth already poised for a retort--the second he registers it's us, though, his eyes light up and every bit of aggression drains from him. "I didn't think you'd be here until tomorrow!"  
  
"We took a Pidgeot from Saffron," True says. The two of us are careful not to walk on any fallen boxes and meet him. He embraces True, who squeaks with surprise, and crouches to offer his hand to me. I take it and allow him to scratch my ears, which feels much better than it should. "When did you get put on mail duty?"  
  
"Mail duty? This is my break," Kenta laughs. "Need to make sure everything's the way it should be, you know how it goes... Oak's in his study if you want to say hi? Unless you need help finding it again," he says with a wink.  
  
“We’re fine,” I say pointedly. Kenta pulls back, flashes an apologetic smile, and steps away.  
  
On a beautiful day like today, most of the lab techs and interns are out doing field work, or just soaking in the sun. It's for the better, probably. The cool tile feels good on my paws, and True's heavy gait behind me is reassuring. The windows let in plenty of warm light; it would be easy to just stand here and bask, to not go up. But we do, and this time it's me who knocks on the dark brown door.  
  
"Mm? Yes, come in."  
  
And thank Arceus, I see him sitting in his favorite chair, pouring a cup of his favorite horrible coffee, maybe a little more lined and a touch grayer but still a recognizable Professor Samuel Oak. His eyes widen and he straightens up in his chair, pushing a memo from an adjacent seat to a small table at his side. "It's wonderful to see you both again."  
  
I don't realize how much I've missed him until I barrel into him and bury my nose into his chest. Surprise stiffens him for a moment before he rests a leathery hand on my back, steadying me. The old coffee and book smell, the ease of his aura—I didn't realize how precious they were until I'd been without them.  
  
The other chair groans. True sits with her hands fidgeting in her lap, looking much more twelve than sixteen. I straddle the arm of Oak's chair closest to her; she eyes me warily before looking over to the Professor. "Kenta said something about not expecting us? Is it... is it still alright if I stay here?"  
  
"Luckily enough, I had a spare bedroom already prepared. You and your team are fine to stay here as long as you'd like."  
  
Nothing short of relief washes over True's face. She bows her head in silent thanks before asking, "I can help around here to—to pay you back, if you—"  
  
But Oak raises his hand off my shoulders and shakes his head. "Nothing of the sort. Right now, I think, is the time for you to relax. I'm sure you must have flown very quickly to get here before nightfall."  
  
"I think I like flying on Clara better," True admits with a smile. "But really, sir, if there's anything I can do... just say so?"  
  
"I will," the Professor promises. "I've prepared the old storage room for you, if you’d like to rest a bit? A few of the interns are planning a barbecue tonight if you want to stay for dinner. Kenta's particularly excited about his tofu burgers."  
  
True rises with another nod and meets me in the eye. "I'll see you later then?"  
  
"See you," I say, and watch her click the door shut quietly behind her.  
  
The air immediately thickens. I don't meet Oak's eyes at first, and instead look at the numerous bookshelves and computer monitors. The memo he had moved seems to be written in a foreign language, one I've never seen before.  
  
"Kalosian," the Professor explains. "I've made contact with a young researcher there who's looking into ancient myths of the region."  
  
"Never heard of it," I murmur.  
  
"That's not the important thing," he says, and finally I'm forced to look at him. His dark eyes pin me down in a way that immediately makes me think of Minka. "I only know bits and pieces of what happened in the Saffron Gym. Tell me what happened."  
  
I tell him everything: not just the battle itself and Clara's narrow escape from death, but Wilkes's episode, True running off, me alone with McKey and Sabrina, True and I's... I don't even know if it was a fight. It takes a long time, because I keep starting and stopping. Oak just watches me patiently, refilling his coffee cup and taking slow, contemplative sips.  
  
"But your Clara will be alright?" Oak asks, once I've finished and gone silent for a bit.  
  
"The Nurse said she would be," I say. "She just needs a few days rest. Being here will probably be really good for her."  
  
"And you haven't talked with your Haunter since the dojo?"  
  
No, I tell him. I don't really want to.  
  
Oak rubs his temple with his forefinger, closes his eyes with a sigh. "Good to see neither of you have lost your stubborn streaks."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "How much of that's supposed to be sarcastic?"  
  
"Not too much," he admits. "But I meant what I said about using this time as a way to recenter yourself, but you should also use it as a time of deep reflection."  
  
"I don't know if she wants to challenge the Viridian Gym, but—"  
  
"Not just True. You, too."  
  
Static brings up the hairs on my arms. "I know my place. I chose it in Vermilion, I'm—I'm with her—"  
  
"No," Professor Oak says softly. "You're not."  
  
The silence becomes a tangible thing, a sea to swim through. I have to focus to breathe. Oak sighs and takes a long drag of his coffee before standing up from his chair. Sunlight's streaming in through the polished window; he looks out, brushing the side of his cup with his free hand. He doesn't ask me to come to him, but I do, peering out the window. The hills roll out in front of us, fields of off-color green lined with trees. True's out there with the rest of the team—I spy Wilkes with a flare of surprise, watch him as he drifts near the fringes of the group.  
  
"When I left you in Vermilion you seemed... not confident. Resigned is probably the word I would use. You were determined to stay with True for companionship as she continued on her journey. I am sure, after what happened on the SS Anne, that that was a difficult choice for you. But you did it," he says. He isn't looking at me. "You did not consent, however, to be a member of her battling team. And if True does decide to continue on her journey, to defeat the final gym and to attempt Victory Road... Casey, if you are not adamant about aiding her on that aspect of her quest, it is my belief that it would do them more harm than good to be with her."  
  
"So you want me to... what, leave her?" Static fluffs up my fur as I turn back to the window: Clara is bonking Jackson on the head with her wing. Hyde is laughing. So's True.  
  
"You told me that you would stay with her until she had a battle-ready team that would be able to support her. From the matches I've been able to catch on the Battle Network and from what I'm seeing down there, it seems as though she has just that. If you want to proceed with her on this journey, should she choose," he says, as I open my mouth, "should she decide to continue... I would take this time to think long and hard about the path ahead."  
  
He says something else but I don't hear it: I pick up words, like "bedroom" and "soon," and instead watch him leave.  
  
I stay up in that window longer than I care to admit, just watching them all. Jackson's practically tied to Clara's side--I don't think he leaves five inches of room between them. Hyde seems to be juggling some sort of big blue ball—it takes me a minute but I recognize it as one of the fitness balls Oak uses to entertain the Starters he gives away in May. It's impossible to juggle with one ball but Hyde is certainly trying, tossing it up higher and higher into the air and catching it with psychic energy. True's relaxing on a nearby chair, her arms crossed over her belly, watching Hyde's display. Even Britt seems to be interested, lounging on the grass and shredding grass between her claws.  
  
I'm still watching them when Kenta knocks on the door—when I don't respond, he pushes the door open. "Was just looking for you. Want to help set up dinner?"  
  
There isn't much that I'm able to do--I'm just too small—so I just hang onto Kenta's shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. There's a heavy scent of barbecue in the air, and immediately my mouth starts to water. True and I had had a very small breakfast before setting off from Saffron; it's only just now, staring at pots of mashed potatoes and mixed berry salads, that I realize how hungry I really am.  
  
"The rest is all out on the patio," Kenta says, and starts to juggle plates. "You think you could maybe get some napkins, little guy?"  
  
It's about all I'm able to carry, but I do it. At this point several lab assistants have come to set dishes and bring bowls and utensils onto the three huge picnic tables set out back. By now, True and the others have caught whiffs of dinner. Hyde is the first to bound to us and eyes the assortment of food with three sets of hungry eyes. "That's all for us?"  
  
"Don't be rude," I say, and set my cargo down at the end of the middle table. "It's for everybody, not just us."  
  
"Awww."  
  
True stops near the grill, eying the burgers steaming in the late afternoon air. "I can go get some food for them, if there isn't enough...?"  
  
"That'd probably be a good idea," says a female intern. "You want—"  
  
"I know where you guys keep it," True says.  
  
“And that should do it!” Kenta cries out, just as True slips back into the kitchen. “Now if everyone can just form a nice, orderly line…”  
  
It doesn’t happen; everyone, Pokémon and human alike, swarms up to sample Kenta’s famous tofu burgers. Jackson and Hyde are particularly eager to get a taste, even after True starts piling generous heaps of Pokémon food onto plates for them.  
  
Clara alone stays back, and pins me down with the weight of her icy stare. I don’t need to hear the question to give her an answer: “It’s none of your business.”  
  
She scoffs.  
  
“Nothing’s wrong, okay—don’t give me that look,” I say, as her brow lifts over deadpan eyes. “When the time comes, I’ll tell you.”  
  
Maybe it won’t come for a while, but it does the trick for now. I’m saved by Jackson plopping down at Clara’s side, a loaded plate in each clawed paw. He sets Clara’s down right in front of her before beginning to inhale his own, all without giving me a sideways glance.  
  
Which is fine. It’s all fine. There’s a plate waiting there for me opposite True, who’s picking at her meager gathering. Hyde is levitating globs of mashed potatoes into his three open mouths, winking at me when I stare too long. Britt’s on the other side of the table, investigating each piece of food before chewing tenderly.  
  
There’s only one team member missing—and immediately after I think this, True says, “He’s in his ball.”  
  
This doesn’t bother me as much as it should.  
  
For a long time there’s a steady stream of plates scraping against the wooden tables, of utensils clicking against each other, of good conversation and laughter spilling into the darkening night. We’re treated to a particularly spectacular display of belch-fire, which sends most everyone into giggles. People are drunk on good spirits and the cases of beer that seems to appear out of thin air.  
  
"He's running late," Kenta growls. "Doesn't he know this food won't keep forever?"  
  
The Professor looks up from his cleaned plate and out into the horizon, where the sun has almost hidden behind the Tohjo mountains. "It isn't like him to not show up on time. Perhaps—"  
  
Britt's sudden standing and Clara's shrill cry is the only warning we get before a rugged Sandslash pops out of the ground, a smile on his narrow muzzle. "Still some grub for us?"  
  
The only ones who look confused about this sudden arrival are True and our team--the lab staff only cast the newcomer one satisfied glance before turning eagerly to their plates, loading them high with seconds and thirds potatoes and meat and salad. Professor Oak seems to be the only one who keeps his attention on our new arrival. "You have good news, I hope?"  
  
"I'll let him tell ya," the stranger says with a wink. "Keep you _hungry_ for the story that's about to come."  
  
Britt's low groan only brings out laughs from the puffy-cheeked interns. For one horrible moment, True and I lock eyes—hers are wide and alarm-bright—as the porch lights suddenly flare to life. There's a pit in my stomach that only solidifies when, long minutes later, I see a lanky figure stride up over the crest of the hill.  
  
But stride isn't the right word for it. There's a smooth confidence in the newcomer's gait, a self-assuredness that radiates from nose to heel. Gary Oak approaches with an exaggerated swagger that would, under normal circumstances, put me on edge. Which isn't to say they don't—but my being on edge probably has less to do with him than it does that, though I can see the Ninetales strutting behind him and the Sandslash-- _Sheldon_ , I remember now—I can't see Cassidy.  
  
"Filed the paperwork and everything, Gramps!" Gary hollers, stretching his arms over his head--the tiny badge glints between his fingers, catching the dying light. "I brought the team and they're..."  
  
His words die as he notices True, who looks away from him; as he notices Jackson, who is held back only by Britt's firm hand on his chest. There's a flicker of fear in the boy's brown eyes, but that quickly disappears and is replaced by a cocky smile. "Come to celebrate my victory, True?"  
  
I don't know what I want her to do—run away? Fight back? She stays seated and doesn't look at him, but her words are clear: "I didn't know you'd be here."  
  
"It's my Grandpa's lab. I'm an Oak." Gary slides into the closest vacant seat, brushing arms with a coil-haired intern who practically melts at the touch. "Better question would probably be, why are _you_ here?"  
  
"She's my guest," the Professor says pointedly, leaving no room for question or dissent. "She'll be staying in one of the rooms."  
  
He thought we'd be coming tomorrow. That's what he had disappeared to do—make another bedroom for his grandson, who he'd been expecting tonight. We could have missed each other, missed this moment, if we hadn't been so insistent at getting the quickest ride out of Saffron.  
  
With one swipe of Gary's hand comes the rest of his team: a floating Magneton who glances over the spread with beady, mechanical eyes; a group of Exeggcute who bounce around Gary's feet, tittering away to themselves; and Michaela, tailless and sharp-nosed and fully evolved, who clutches her spoons in a vice-grip and doesn't meet my eyes.  
  
"So long as she keeps out of my training. For the Victory Run," he says needlessly, and tears off a bite from a burger. "Since I'm _qualified_."  
  
"Where's Cass?" I whisper.  
  
"And now all that's left to do is to do some training. Two months should be more than enough to get these guys into Champion shape, eh, Gramps?"  
  
The Alakazam flicks her dark eyes toward me, shakes her head, then settles cross-legged on the ground next to her trainer.  
  
"Right now," Professor Oak says, "it would be best to let them rest..."  
  
"For a day or two, yeah, but then it's back to work for all of us. I mean, I can't expect to win the Championship without some good hard work."  
  
If the rest of his team is out of their balls, if Cassidy isn't with them—he wouldn't be this confident, there's no way, not even a cocky shit like him can be so heartless.  
  
Michaela's voice is a whisper in my mind, almost blending in with the clang of utensils on plates.  <<She's fine.>>  
  
Fine might mean "alive" but it doesn't mean she's here. If our last words were our final words... "Where?"  
  
I don't realize I've spoken aloud until I feel every heavy eye on me. They don't matter; I'm staring straight at Michaela, who refuses to meet my eyes.  
  
"Case, I'm sure she's fine," True says. "Just... let's finish eating—"  
  
"She doesn't wanna see you," Sheldon interrupts, as the plates along his back flare out. "None of us want her to see you. Leave her alone."  
  
And now I look at the faces of Gary's team, Gary himself: guarded, weary, angry eyes. Boston in particular looks fierce, his lips turned downward in a slight snarl. The fur along my spine starts prickling with static. "She's—"  
  
<<By the river,>> Michaela murmurs. <<Go to her.>>  
  
Hyde's curious questions, Clara's concerned warble, True's tired sighs—they all echo in my head long after I've left the dinner and slipped into the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	70. Chapter Sixty-Five

The woods south of Pallet Town has been a play place for children and Pokémon for as long as I've been here, and longer before that. I remember following troop after troop of rambunctious kids, fresh out of school and pining for adventures far away from their small houses and gently rolling hills—to keep an eye on them, mostly, even though the Pokémon who live there are wonderfully docile. The boats from the south that carry cargo dock right into the market side of town, far away from the trees. If you pretend hard enough, it's a haven away from civilization.  
  
The river that snakes through is long and searching all of it would take hours, maybe even the whole night. But there's one place that, over the years we'd known each other, has become  _our spot_ : a little outlook framed by thin-branched trees that let in floods of light. There's a huge rock for basking in the sun that sits right in the river bank, so that you actually have to get your feet wet. It's far enough from town to make it feel like we're somewhere else, but close enough so that—if we really had to—we could high-tail it back to the lab or the school or wherever else we needed to be.  
  
The light that bleeds from beyond the Tohjo mountains is dark red and purple, a bruise that's slowly fading into black. I find our spot just as the stars poke out of the sky, as the moon lights the river silver. Everything is unnaturally still here, like a held breath. I follow Cassidy's scent trail where it ends at the bank. Tiny pawprints are being washed away. She isn't sitting on the shore, and she isn't lounging on the rock. The water's cold when I wade into it, and I feel it nip at my toes as I jump onto the wet stone, struggle to find my balance, and look out into the water.  
  
There's every possibility that she's found some other place to rest, that she has a nook that she kept secret even from me. But this was where we had stolen away for the summers, where I'd taken my guitar and she'd sing a little jig, and we'd sit and play and  _be_  until the dawn. Something feels right about being here in our old haunt, a place I had never even taken True.  
  
True, who watched me leave for someone who, no matter what the circumstances, killed Minka.  
  
True, who probably thinks I'm leaving her for good now that we're back home.  
  
Oak's words are still floating in my head, bringing doubts that settle with a heaviness that feels permanent. Leave True to handle Victory Road all on her own, free up a space for a new fighter? Go with her for moral support, be there if she breaks down?  
  
Minka would know just what to say. Kerri would beat an answer into me. Peter would be supportive no matter what I did.  
  
My brother would just push me toward True without room for questioning.  
  
And Cassidy—  
  
"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?"  
  
Not Cassidy. But Britt moves fairly quietly for someone her size—or maybe  _slowly_  is the better word, because she takes her time emerging from the trees to the shore. The moonlight catches her heavy scowl and furrowed brow.  
  
"What else is new," I mutter, and turn my back to her.  
  
A high-powered spray of water knocks me into the river. I come up for air, gasping and sparking, and glare at the Blastoise who stands at the shore with her paws settled near her hips. She has a glare to match. "What's new is that you can't hide it under that bullshit anymore."  
  
I feel like I'm going to be sucked into the riverbed, there's so much water in my fur. "I didn't ask you to come out and find me."  
  
"You make it sound like I wanted to come drag your ass back to the lab."  
  
"That's why you're here?"  
  
"Officially, yeah."  
  
My eyes narrow. "What's the real reason?"  
  
"Not important," she shrugs, and settles in the sand. "Guess I could tell you if you opened up."  
  
A flash of contact. Whatever brushes against my side is gone before I can turn around. The contact lingers even after I've pulled myself, dripping and waterlogged, onto the slick rock. "And True?"  
  
"Skipping through fields of flowers, delighted she doesn't have to put up with you anymore." I must make a face, because she rolls her eyes. "What am I supposed to say?"  
  
I had only run away from True once on our journey: in Cerulean, after... I don't even remember what had happened, or why I had left. I remember jumping out a window and going to meet Cassidy, and coming home dizzy-headed. Minka had been there. And Kerri had been there, too.  
  
"Look, the last thing I saw in Saffron before that fight was a trainer who was a little freaked out by Wilkes but fairly confident. Next thing I know," she says, waving a blunt paw, "we're in a completely different part of Kanto, and True can hardly speak without shaking like we're in a Sinnoh winter."  
  
I turn away from her. "Get Jackson to tell you about it," I mutter.  
  
"He told me as much as he knew, which wasn't a lot. I bet my cannons you know more than you're letting on."  
  
I scoff. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"You're the one who's always had her ear. Clara almost kicking it is one thing. But the two of you would hardly look at each other at that dinner, and usually you're all touchy-feely like a pair of lovesick Growlithe." She kicks the edge of the water with her foot; water sprays across my face. "So talk."  
  
"No."  
  
The word isn't even all the way out before I'm back in the river. When I break the surface again, there's telltale water dripping from her cannons. "I can do this all night. It's good practice."  
  
I spit water out of my mouth in a huff. "What the hell do you want me to say? Clara almost died, True left, and I—"  
  
"Freaked out?"  
  
Yes. No! "I held it together! I didn't yell at her, I just... I needed time to think, I—"  
  
"Stop." Britt shakes her head with a scowl. "When the hell are you going to understand that keeping everything to yourself doesn't do anyone any favors?"  
  
"You want me to just say all this without knowing how I'm feeling? That's not being responsible, that's being stupid."  
  
"So the responsible thing is to leave your trainer for some prissy Vaporeon? Got it."  
  
"She's not  _prissy_ ," I growl. "And that's not what happened."  
  
Britt laughs. "Last time I checked, I wasn't blind."  
  
"You don't understand!"  
  
There is a flash in Britt's eyes that looks way too familiar. Suddenly I'm back in Cerulean and it's a different set of eyes from a different blue face that's pinning me down. "Oh yeah? Try me."  
  
But this isn't Kerri, who literally beat the sense into me after my meeting with Cassidy, after I had met Minka for the first time. This is Britt, and we have never had the kind of relationship where we hash our feelings out. The only things I know about the stubborn Blastoise is that she isn't picky about where her food comes from, and she likes to fight, and she's probably the best tactician on the team. I know nothing of her motivations, her life before us, anything.  
  
"I can't make any promises that I won't laugh," she warns. "But I can listen."  
  
It shouldn't encourage me. But I say it anyway. "I know True's okay with you guys, alright? You're all... you're strong and huge and can protect her. Not just you, everyone. I knew she'd be safe. And when I didn't see Cass..."  
  
"What, you thought she'd died or something?" she scoffs. I must give her some sort of look, because the amused smirk falls a bit. She looks right through me. "She means that much to you?"  
  
True and I are incredibly close. We've probably grown closer in the past few months than we had in the past few years. True has grown from a child I had watched tear through the woods to someone I deeply, passionately care about. I protect her. I watch over her. I love her when she can't love herself.  
  
But Cassidy has always been different. And it's hard to put into words, because I'm not used to that, but there had always been an ease when we were together. We could work in silence and not look at each other, but find comfort in each other's presence. She knew how to get me to open up after Chris's surprise appearance in Celadon. She probably knows things about me that I don't know about myself. We have a history together, we have an understanding. When we sing, it's like magic.  
  
I like to think she knows that I never meant to hurt her, but now I don't know where I stand with her.  
  
I don't say any of this to Britt, because to say this stuff out loud is more than I can handle at the moment. "She's one of the most important people in my life," I say, and it's enough. "And if I fucked up much as I think I did... I don't know what I'm going to do."  
  
I'd forgotten Britt was there until she clears her throat. "Well. You have a while to track her down. Just make sure she's alone when you do it."  
  
There had been a nasty promise in Sheldon's eyes, a sad weariness in Michaela's. Michaela probably already knows about this place, from reading my mind and maybe even Cassidy's. Maybe she won't tell.  
  
"Look, we'll figure something out." I lift my head and meet Britt's eyes; she meets mine with a shrug. "It'd be nice to work like an actual team again."  
  
I laugh bitterly. "Have we ever?"  
  
"There've been times," she chuckles. "Silph Tower. Training for Cinnabar. That dance dojo, even if Wilkes fucked up at first. I figure that if we go on and defeat whoever's in Viridian, we'll need to all be on the same page."  
  
"And if we don't?"  
  
Her sigh is long and deep, a resignation. "Guess that's for her to decide, isn't it."  
  
I bow my head.  
  
"But out of all of us, you're the one best equipped to get her to see sense." She stands up, brushes a few stubborn leaves off the lip of her shell, and turns to the path that leads back to the lab. "Wanna try?"  
  
I brush water out of the tuft of head fur and stare her in the eye. "You really came down here to give me a pep talk?"  
  
"Figured it wouldn't have been polite to clock that Oak brat in the mouth," Britt says. "There's only so much arrogance I can take."  
  
It feels wrong to laugh after everything that's just happened, but somehow it makes me feel lighter. It's only a short jump from the top of the rock to the shore. I kick out, and then kick again, landing firmly in sand. But I'm feet away from the shore, a tail's length away from Britt. She eyes me with interest. "Nice Quick Attack. Was that what you were trying to do in Cinnabar?"  
  
There's a restless energy in my back feet that feels achingly familiar. I want to run, but I look behind me instead. "I... I think so." There is no reason why I should have been able to do this, when a day's worth of training in the tropical forest had yielded nothing. I can't help but think of Peter as I take the lead. Britt says nothing and follows.  
  
There are two paths that lead from the river spot to the lab: a straight shot to the front doors, and a winding path that leads toward the gardens. We take the first option up a hill, Britt panting heavily behind me. When I offer to slow down the pace, she gives me a glare that I'd expect to see on an Arbok. "It's training," she says, and stubbornly pushes on. I don't have the will or want to argue with her.  
  
In little to no time at all we're back in the yard with the picnic tables. All the plates and food have been cleared away, all the lights have been turned off. I'm dimly aware of Jackson and Clara curled up around each other underneath a window, Jackson's webbed wing draped over Clara's body. Hyde isn't much farther away, his feet buried in freshly turned soil and six heads drooping.  
  
"Do you know where her room is?" I ask quietly.  
  
Britt has caught her breath. She comes to stand beside me before pointing silently up to the window. I open my mouth to say something—a thank you? An apology?—but she shakes her head. "Get out of here," she mouths, and settles down on the ground before I can reply.  
  
So I don't, and sneak into the lab. These hallways feel much friendlier without people passing through; every once in a while I'll pass a room where light is sneaking through the cracks, where aides are writing papers in the moonlight. There aren't really "bedrooms" in the lab building, more like rooms that happen to have beds. Boxes of materials have been taken elsewhere, the sheets look clean on a freshly-made bed, and there's room on the tiny desk tucked away in the corner. True's backpack is resting in the chair, wide open and dusty; Al's guitar case rests underneath it.  
  
True's bundled up, cocooned in thin blankets. She doesn't move when I gently push the door closed, doesn't even make a sound. When I jump onto the edge of the bed she twitches. I approach her warily, my side brushing against the wall. Her hair is wild against the pillow, her cheeks are flushed—but I'm concentrated more on the piercing green eyes that warily meet mine.  
  
The bile's come back to my throat again; I swallow it down and force myself to look straight at her, to not turn away. "I didn't mean to wake you up."  
  
"Didn't think you'd come back tonight."  
  
"I did, though."  
  
She hums a soft "yeah", bites back a yawn. "Did you find her?"  
  
I shake my head. "I looked all over for her, but I guess she didn't want to listen to me. Can't really blame her," I add with a small shrug.  
  
True's only reply is a blank stare.  
  
The sheets that aren't wrapped around True have been pulled from their tucked corners. I paw at an off-white sheet to make a bed for myself. "Anyway. It's late, I should let you sleep."  
  
She doesn't reply, so I settle into my nest. She turns her back toward me so that all I can see is her hair, dark on the pillow. I sigh and close my eyes. I'm close to sleeping before I hear her ask, "Do you still..."  
  
Nothing comes after that. "Hm?"  
  
"Never mind," she says, and goes to sleep.  
  
Rest is fitful when it comes. I wake in the morning with tired eyes and an aching in my limbs, to a bed that's empty. There isn't a clock in this tiny room, but the light that streams in from the dirty window looks bright. I stretch and push the door open. There's a savory smell in the air, and I follow it down to the kitchen. I pass sleepy-eyed aides and interns nursing coffee cups in their shaking hands, manage a few hellos as I travel down the hallway and through the parted double doors.  
  
All the doors and windows have been thrown open to let in the fresh air, to let out the smell from food sizzling on the skillets. True stands at the stove whipping pancake batter together as the team— _my team_ , and it's a weird thing to think after last night—inhales their food on the floor. It's a large enough kitchen for everyone to fit comfortably; we could probably fit in twenty more people. Clara is the first to notice me and chirps a greeting between bites. Jackson's standing right beside her and waves. "We thought you'd sleep forever."  
  
The clock on the wall reads 9:30. How long had they been awake?  
  
"It hasn't been long," says Wilkes from the shadowy corner. "Eat."  
  
Sure enough, there's a small bowl and a big red apple waiting for me on the counter. True meets my eyes as I hop up and gives me a tired smile. "I thought you'd like to sleep," she says.  
  
"You could've woken me up," I say.  
  
Britt, who sits closest to the door, coughs loudly into her paw. If that's supposed to be a message, I miss it. I eat what I can of the pellets of Pokéchow and turn to the apple.  
  
I'm down to the core when Professor Oak stumbles in, tired eyed and messy-haired. "You didn't have to do that, True," he says.  
  
By now there's a stack of pancakes on the counter next to the stove. True hands it to him as she shakes her head. "It helps."  
  
"I'll certainly take it," the Professor says, and sits close to me. "Thank you." After a few minutes, True assembles a stack of pancakes for herself, grabs a bit of toast, and sits down in front of me and the Professor. His gray eyes meet mine inquisitively; I look away, which seems to be answer enough. "Did you have any plans to train today?" he asks, spearing a strip of tofu bacon.  
  
True shrugs. "I figured Gary would be out there, and it... probably wouldn't be good to be out with him."  
  
"That's probably wise," the Professor admits. "But it is a big training area, I'm sure you could work out something with him."  
  
Britt meets my eyes pointedly. I shake my head.  
  
"But in the meantime, I do have a package I need delivered to the Pokémon Mart in Viridian. I know you just got here, but would you mind taking it over?"  
  
Surprise flashes on True's face. "Um—I mean, I guess? That wouldn't be a problem. Just sometime today, or...?"  
  
"The package is in my office and it's fairly... time sensitive, so the sooner the better. You and Casey would probably make the trip in a few hours."  
  
When I meet her eyes, Britt just shrugs. "I had nothing to do with this," she mouths.  
  
Hyde perks up and lumbers over to us, his grass-like hair shivering. "I could go! Can I go?"  
  
True has to grab the bit of pancake that Hyde tears off with his psychic powers, and gobbles it up in front of him with a sly smile. "Sure. Anyone else want to go?"  
  
The others pass, favoring sunshine basking and exploring the lab's grounds. We quickly clean up and head outside as True follows the Professor to his study. It only takes her a few minutes to come back down with the package in her arms. She smells like sunscreen when she passes us.  
  
The three of us make an interesting traveling band, to be sure. We hardly get down the hill before Hyde decides to pick me up and place me on top of his six heads. I have to part the grass-like strands of hair to see out. We travel this way for the two miles that separate Pallet Town from Viridian City, keeping to the dirt roads. It's normal for Hyde to dominate the conversation with his wondered commentary, but today it seems especially pronounced. True and I hardly say anything before we walk through the gate to Viridian City.  
  
"This is so much smaller than the other cities we've been to," Hyde remarks.  
  
True leads the way to the Pokémon Mart. "Just wait until October."  
  
We're still two months away from peak competition season, where every qualifying trainer comes to begin their run toward the Pokémon League tournament. It's busy, but a comfortable busy that I can tolerate. What sets me on edge is the number of familiar faces I can point out in the crowd: the barber from the north side of town, the family of grocers who would sneak me an apple every once in a while, a little boy I had worked with in the tiny school in Viridian. I had gotten used to anonymity in the huge cities: this widespread recognition puts me on edge.  
  
True leaves us in front of the shop—it's easier, considering how tall Hyde is. The two of us watch from the window as True steps up to the counter and shares a few words with the clerk, a tattooed man who seems to recognize her. She leaves with a bag of Pokémon snacks in her hand and immediately tears open the package to treat us.  
  
That's good enough for Hyde, who gobbles up his share eagerly. I nibble on mine pensively as we make the turn back toward the gate.  
  
"So all the people who fight in the League come here for their last shiny thing," Hyde says. "And then they can go through a mountain?"  
  
"That's pretty much it," True laughs. "And it's not really a mountain, but a mountain pass. Running through Victory Road is called the Victory Run. If you can get through, you earn the chance to battle the Elite Four. And if you beat them, you can battle the Champion."  
  
"I've never been in a mountain before," Hyde remarks. "Heard about them, from eavesdropping on the rangers in the Safari Zone. They don't sound fun."  
  
"I guess they're kind of like the caves in the Seafoam Islands."  
  
There's a grimace on each of Hyde's face. "Definitely don't sound like fun."  
  
We pass the gate with little fanfare. I let out the breath I've been holding.  
  
"And what happens if you battle the Champion?"  
  
True meets my eyes for a hesitant moment. I sigh. "You get special privileges," I explain. "Travel and access to restricted areas. And you get put in a pool to decide the next Champion when they retire or... get removed. The rest of the Elite Four and the Gym Leaders all have a vote, and whoever wins becomes the next leader of the Pokémon League."  
  
"That sounds way too complicated."  
  
"It's supposed to be a sort of fail safe," True says. "Anyone could come and beat the League with a powerful team of Pokémon. Champions do more than just battle at the end of the battling season, they help lead the region. It's a lot of responsibility."  
  
"And that's what you want to do? Be Champion?" Hyde asks.  
  
True breathes a long sigh. "I don't know."  
  
There are moments when you know things have to be done. This is one of those times. "Hyde, why don't you go ahead and get back to the lab. See if you can't bug Britt."  
  
"But I don't wanna—"  
  
I lean down and glare into the nearest pair of eyes.  
  
"Oh.  _Ooooh_ , okay. You want me out of here to talk about stuff."  
  
" _Hyde_."  
  
"Fine, fine! Down you go!"  
  
He sets me gently onto the ground before tearing down the dirt road. "And stick to the path!" I yell, but by that point he's probably out of earshot.  
  
"That wasn't subtle at all," True says.  
  
"I didn't need to be." I kick my heels into the dirt and shyly look up at her. "Can we talk?"  
  
There's a fallen tree trunk just a few yards away from us. We sit on it—or, True sits on it, and I leap up beside her. True leans forward with her arms draped over her knees. The skin on her shoulders is pink again. "About last night, or...?"  
  
"Or the night in Saffron. I wasn't... I wasn't ready to listen then." I take a deep breath. "I think I'm ready now."  
  
It takes her a while to get started. She clenches her hands together and looks into her lap. "You're mad at me because I'm a bad trainer."  
  
Am I even mad at her? Or am I mad at a system that, for all its precautions and its resources, brings about the pain and death of people I care about? I have no idea. That isn't the most important thing right now, though. "You're not a bad trainer," I say.  
  
"But you're mad at me."  
  
Be truthful. Don't keep it all up inside. "I don't know what I feel right now. I guess... hurt? Confused. About you leaving us in the gym."  
  
She looks up at the blindingly blue sky, blinks back tears. "She almost died and it would have been  _my fault._ "  
  
"It wouldn't," I start to say, but the words stick to the roof of my mouth. Biting them back takes energy. As a trainer, it would have been her fault. "She didn't die, though."  
  
"I never saw any of them die," she says softly. Her feet fall back to the ground. "Peter and Kerri were on the SS Anne and I wasn't there, I was... I was on the shore, Clara had to keep me out of the water. You told her to keep me there."  
  
"I was trying to protect you," I say, but the words feel feeble in my mouth.  
  
"And the first time I-I saw Minka, she was already  _dead_. You knew before I did, all those times, and I never... saw it actually happen. Like, the moment when they're alive, and then the next when they're..."  
  
I hadn't been there for that moment with Minka, or with Peter, for their deaths. But I had with Kerri. Jackson had been in front of her, but there had been an unnatural stillness that settled over her, just minutes after the gun had torn through her. "I'm glad you weren't there on the SS Anne. I wish I hadn't been."  
  
"The nurses cleaned up all the blood before they let me see them," she whimpers. "So there were just... holes. Minka had all that ice, and she... she looked weirdly beautiful, you know? They had her out under the tree. I thought she was... sleeping. But all those times I thought they'd wake up and they didn't, and with Clara there... she's fine now, and I know that. But back then, I just... I couldn't handle it. That's why I left."  
  
She curls into herself, leaving me no space to wiggle into her embrace. I lean against her legs instead, concentrate on the flush warmth of fabric from walking in the sun, and sigh. "Can you look at me?"  
  
Her eyes are red-rimmed and there's snot dribbling down onto her lip, but she meets my eyes.  
  
"I understand why you ran.  _I_  wanted to run. And maybe I didn't... maybe I wasn't okay with you leavin'."  
  
She wipes the tears and snot away with the back of her hand. "Are you now?"  
  
There will always be a part of me, I think, that won't be okay. Not in the same way that I'm not okay with Al leaving, with Peter and Kerri and Minka leaving. Not an absence, but something else. But I have to remind myself that she's not dead, she's here. She's  _here_ , I can feel her right beside me, breathing and worrying over me accepting her.  
  
This, more than anything, gives me the strength to look her right in the eye. "That's something I have to work on. An' it's more about me than it is about you." There's space in her lap now, and I climb into it. "The important part is that y'came back."  
  
She picks me up and holds me gently to her chest, brushes my back with a firm hand. I lean into the touch and rest my head against her chest, feel her heart beat firmly.  
  
"All that talk with Hyde about the Champion, and the Victory Run," True says. Her heart starts beating faster. "If I do... I don't know if I'm going to battle the Viridian Gym. And I think, maybe it would be best to take a break and think about what I'm going to do."  
  
I know that, just a few miles from here, Gary Oak and his team are not hesitating about making the Run. They're training to make it through Victory Road. They're training to win everything.  
  
But True isn't Gary. I'm not Cassidy. We are not them.  
  
And that's okay.  
  
"We've got time to sort this all out," I say, and let myself rest against her. "For right now, we all need to take a breath and think. We can always train without battling."  
  
"I don't think Britt will be very happy about that," True chuckles.  
  
I remember our conversation at the river last night and shake my head. "You'd be surprised. Might have to worry more about Hyde."  
  
"We should probably go make sure he found his way," True says, and holds me against her chest.  
  
When we move off the log, I'm on her shoulder, and we are breathing together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	71. EXTRA FIVE: To Protect

His promised lazy Sunday begins with a phone call.  
  
His hand gets tangled in the cord on the first attempt to answer; there are still loops curled around his fingers when he grabs the thick receiver. It takes him a long time to bring it to his ear. “Nn, Fargone,” he slurs, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  
  
“Permission to land?”  
  
He had been asleep just moments ago—now he's wide awake. Light is just beginning to filter through their thin curtains. There’s a bitter chill in the air, rusty like the changing leaves outside; he must have forgotten to close the windows the night before. There's a cough on the other line. It brings him back. “You know the rule.”  
  
“We just—”  
  
“No." Something shifts under the covers. "Give me two minutes,” he sighs, and puts the receiver by the cradle.  
  
To his right, his wife yawns and stretches under the thin blankets. “Who was that?"  
  
He makes sure he’s facing away from Inza when he closes his eyes, breathes a sigh. "Work."  
  
For the past three years, he's been a wandering gym inspector, hired by a private firm—at least, this is what he's told anyone who asks. Before that, he had been an administrator for the Viridian Gym, in charge of making sure that all the paperwork from every League-aspiring challenger was filed correctly and any shipments of Pokémon were properly accounted for. That had been an actual, honest job, and it had given him the opportunity to tuck his daughter in at night and kiss his wife "hello" every morning.  
  
Now, he has a cover. He has to steal moments like these when he gets them, which is happening less and less.  
  
“Thought they weren’t supposed to call you,” Inza murmurs, blinking sleepy eyes up at him. She’s a mess, all tangled hair and flushed cheeks.  
  
He might have a minute and a half. It will have to be enough. Richard brushes a hand against her shoulder and presses a firm kiss to her temple. “They’re not.”  
  
"Thought you were the boss.”  
  
He's not the shadowy authority figure who looms over the organization, whose objectives are delivered by distorted voices and typed memos. And if he's not him, he's not anyone. “Hang up the phone for me,” he whispers, and gently kisses her. “Maybe brush your teeth.”  
  
“Ass,” she laughs, and blows in his face.  
  
It’s a very short walk from their bedroom to Richard’s private study. There is nothing here that would incriminate him—he’s fought long and hard to build a chasm between work and family life—but he still keeps it locked when not in use. There’s a desk with an old computer, a few bookshelves, and a phone. He picks up the receiver and shouts to Inza. He waits for the click. Then he sighs. “I only have one rule, kid.”  
  
He doesn’t recognize the boy on the other line—but he knows that it’s a boy, it has to be, from the way his voice breaks on every third syllable. “I-I know, sir, and I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t have to. It’s just important.”  
  
Richard runs a hand down his face, nails scratching stubble. “What are we talking?”  
  
“The, um… th-the item in the forest? They found it.”  
  
If he hadn't already been sitting down in his desk chair, he’d be on the floor. His free hand makes new dents in the dark arm chair; he has to fight to not shatter the phone. There’s a faded picture hung above the computer, dense forest rippling under a shining sky. “How much of it?” he asks, tension coiling in his limbs.  
  
“All of it,” the boy says. There’s excitement in his voice. “Undamaged and contained. I haven’t seen it yet, but I heard about it.”  
  
All of Ariana’s plans, all of the whispers in the science department and on the search teams... they were all true. “And it’s there now.”  
  
“It’s there now,” the boy repeats. “They have it seda... resting. But we need you to sign off. Just to make sure everything’s alright.”  
  
There's been very little progress made with the translators: a million to one, that's why they're summoning him.   
  
He should have known better than to doubt Team Rocket. The organization is a well-oiled machine, always researching and developing with particular goals in mind. Most he isn’t privy to, partly from choice and partly because he does no business in most departments. But even he’s heard the whispers, the longing in Vympel's voice. An army of super-powered Pokémon, obedient to a fault, ruthless and unfeeling, could be developed in house. They just needed one last thing before they could start: a Pokémon of tremendous potential and incredible psychic abilities, rumored to nest in a remote forest south of Hoenn. It was to be the lynchpin to their plans.  
  
His own plans are falling apart with every second he's on the line. They were supposed to hike to the river tomorrow, the three of them, and have a picnic. He was going to surprise them with a concert on Tuesday. Richard closes his eyes. “I won’t be able to leave until tomorrow morning,” he says. He hopes there isn’t too much of a hitch to his voice. “Where will I meet them?”  
  
“Down in Cinnabar.”  
  
It’s not Saffron. Is that better or worse? “Tell them I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
"Anything else I should know?"  
  
"No, sir, that's all."  
  
Small miracles. "And your name, son?”  
  
The boy clears his throat. “A-Archer,” the boy says.  
  
“Archer,” Richard repeats. He might remember the kid: a new recruit, pale and eager to please. They'll beat that out of him quickly. “Thank you. You did well.”  
  
“S-Sir.” Archer clears his throat again. “Clear for launch?”  
  
"All clear."  
  
The line clicks dead. Richard hangs up the phone and bows over himself, hands curling in his hair. Just last night, he and True had finished reading about the Legendary Birds, and the battle that almost destroyed the Kanto region. Their fighting had been quelled, just momentarily, by Mew. A tamer of great birds, now curled up in a warehouse or laboratory or worse.  
  
He is no longer the soft-hearted boy he had been growing up. He has seen things.  
  
Richard leaves to turn the lights off in his study, then locks the door behind him. He’s just about to go to bed when he hears something crash downstairs. Someone hisses under their breath.  
  
There’s only one Poké Ball on his belt, a Rhydon that will be too big to release in the house. He grabs hold of it anyway, making his way silently down the staircase. Something scrapes against tile, clangs against metal. The kitchen. Sharp knives, oil heated in a sauce pan, electrical fires. The grip on his ball grows tighter.  
  
He’s just about to throw it when he sees her on the step stool, surrounded by eggshells and covered in flour, blink up at him with surprise. “You’re not supposed to be up yet!”  
  
Eight-year-olds should not be giving him heart attacks. His does. “What’re you even doing awake?” he asks, slowly placing the Poké Ball back on his belt.  
  
“I was  _gonna_  make you pancakes,” True says, holding the spoon in her fist like a weapon. “I cracked all the eggs and got everything in the bowl all stirred up.”  
  
How much of that stayed  _in_  the bowl is another question—one that, looking at the huge streaks across the counters and cabinets, he doesn’t want answered. “And then what happened?”  
  
The spoon drops to brush against her pink nightgown, leaving a pale streak. “Well, then I remembered I’m not supposed to use the stove by myself.”  
  
He leans against the counter that separates the dining room from the kitchen, a smile on his face. “So what were you going to do?”  
  
“Make waffles?” True shrugs, then flashes a gummy smile. “But you’re here now, so... wanna help?”  
  
There is no resisting that grin, or those eyes—hell, there is no resisting his daughter. He grabs a clean spoon and looks over the mixture sitting in the steel bowl: it’s almost perfect, hardly any lumps. “You did pretty good with this,” he says, and flicks on the stove. “Where’d you learn to do that?”  
  
“It comes naturally,” she answers, mischief glinting in her eyes.  
  
This is what he misses in the long stints away from home. When he’s focused on paperwork at the Viridian Gym, he’s thinking about lazy afternoons spent watching the Battle Network on the couch, feet on the table. When he’s scouting for potential strikes—for Pokémon, for tools, for ideas—he’s thinking about Inza laid out on their bed, books sprawled over the sheets. And when he’s training other kids to become thieves and killers and conquerors, he’s thinking about True mixing concoctions in his cooking bowls.  
  
Before he knows it, True will be old enough to take a trainer’s journey on her own. It’s because of Team Rocket that she’ll be prepared, that she’ll have her best foot forward.  
  
The first batch of pancakes come out a little burned on the bottom, but it’s nothing a good douse of butter and syrup won’t be able to mask. He hasn’t heard Inza move from their bed—hopefully she’s gone back to sleep. True wiggles beside him, cutting the Eevee-shaped pancake stack into bite-sized pieces before stuffing them in her mouth. She catches him staring, swallows, and grins. “Thank you, Papa.”  
  
Her hair tastes like flour when he kisses it. He lingers for only a moment, but it's long enough that True squirms under him. She pokes his nose with a syrupy finger, leaving sticky residue behind, and smiles as she pulls away. "We're gonna go walking today, right?"  
  
It's eight in the morning. It feels like a day has passed. "As soon as we clean everything up and it gets a little lighter. And then tomorrow... tomorrow I have to go back to work."  
  
She deflates right before his eyes, like a Drifloon. "I thought you were gonna be here longer."  
  
He's only been home for three days; he's supposed to be here for a week, at least. "I did, too," he sighs, and clasps a hand on her small shoulder. He braces himself. "That just means we'll have to enjoy the time we have together."  
  
"Mm!" she says—or mumbles, caught with another mouthful of pancakes.  
  
He wants to bottle this and take it with him to Cinnabar, to Saffron, to all the places he goes that aren't here. He wants to  _be_  here, but as Vympel has told him over and over again, he does not dictate his own life. He is one part of a whole, and he should be proud.  
  
He is proud. For reasons unrelated to Team Rocket.  
  
"The next time I'm home," he says, "we'll take a vacation. A real one."  
  
True pauses from gathering plates, then smiles. "That'd be fun. I get to pick?"  
  
"Within reason," he jokes. "Go get cleaned up, I'll take care of things down here."  
  
A quick peck to his stubbly cheek is all the goodbye he gets before she sets the plates in the sink and scuttles up the stairs—and this is enough, because he knows he'll see her in fifteen minutes, in thirty. As he scrubs the counters down and rinses off the plates, Richard Fargone looks past the window to the southern beach. He keeps staring all throughout his cleaning.  
  
There is a tiny, powerful Pokémon just a few hours away from him, capable of great healing and great destruction. And just one floor above him, his wife and child are slumbering and cleaning, unaware of anything out of the ordinary happening.  
  
"Protect them," he whispers, and thinks of caged gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, happy late Father's Day. :3c
> 
> Just for clarification: I didn't explicitly say this when we were just meeting him, but Archer is 22 during the events of Silph Tower. He just doesn't look it ~~because he's doused himself in evil.~~ But yeah, that's a thing.
> 
> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	72. Chapter Sixty-Six

It doesn't take us long to find Hyde: there's no missing him, dancing along the dirt road that leads to the docks. Eyes are drawn to him as though they've been magnetically pulled. There isn't even anything we can say about it: the people of Pallet Town are used to seeing Pokémon walk through town without trainers frequently enough, thanks to me and Cassidy and others who call the lab their home, but we have ever been so... well, so much like Hyde.  
  
His voice rings through the hills, like a bizarre twist on a classic movie. It pounds in my ears—or I think it does, until I cover them and find no relief. Even True is wincing as she runs us toward the source. Hyde has stopped his dancing and has bowed to peer over one of the vegetable gardens surrounded by a perfect white picket fence.  
  
The Exeggutor notices us with matching smiles on all his faces. I think. "I've never seen anything like this! It's so cute!"  
  
And okay, maybe seeing a huge Pokémon like Hyde getting so excited about something so simple as a vegetable garden  _is_  sort of cute. The old woman who now stands on her porch doesn't think so, and makes it known with a furrowed brow and a sharp, "Hey! Get this dancing tree off my lawn!"  
  
Who the hell would she be able to call? But True, pink in the face from a final sprint, nods and places her hands on Hyde's huge trunk. "Sorry, sorry, we’re going! C’mon, Hyde," she murmurs.  
  
"But I wanna see!"  
  
"There are plenty of other gardens around that don't belong to Mrs. Miana," True whispers, and pushes him forward.  
  
Though he takes a few thoughtful steps, there are still eyes focused on the plump tomatoes hanging lazily from their vines. "Can we go find one?"  
  
It's not that far a jump from True's shoulder to the top of Hyde's… well, to the top of Hyde. I settle in between blades of his leafy hair and poke out to the front. "There's a good one by the lab. So long as you  _don't touch anything_ , we can go look at it."  
  
"Aww, that's no fun," Hyde whines.  
  
Nothing’s fun about this. "It's the best you're gonna get.”  
  
He groans, but finally agrees. True keeps a hand resting on his trunk as we slowly make our way back out of the residential area. By the time we reach the forest the sun has reached its zenith in the sky. It isn't as though we had left early, after all, and we had certainly taken our time getting here. There's a light breeze that covers us, blowing Hyde's hair away from my face. Hyde babbles away about the most mundane things: how the leaves are so different from what he's used to, how he's been counting the number of buildings he’s passed since his capture. (He’d lost count somewhere in Saffron. He’s settled on “a bunch.”)  
  
"We used to go for days without seeing any cars in the Safari Zone," Hyde explains, as we head around the back of the laboratory. "Lots of the other Exeggcute were more focused on finding the Leaf Stones, 'cause they wanted to evolve, which makes sense because it's so much—"  
  
He stops so suddenly that I have to grab fast to keep from flying to the ground. True is much more composed and turns to face Hyde. "Everything okay?"  
  
"Uhh. Someone's here for you, True."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "Thought Exeggutor couldn't read minds."  
  
"We can't—or maybe others can and I just can't—no, Wilkes says."  
  
One long look around us confirms it: Wilkes is not here. “Then how—”  
  
"He thought it'd be good to learn how to communicate with each other after everything that happened, you know, everywhere. But he says don't come—no,  _do_  come—you need to be clearer," he mutters under his breath. "And be prepared for—"  
  
But his explanation is drowned out by a loud, piercing voice: " _Trudy Ann Fargone!_ "  
  
"That," Hyde finishes helplessly, as True’s face goes white.  
  
There is no preparing for the raging storm of a woman who flies toward us, hair frazzled and eyes painfully bright. There are lines on Inza Retune's face that weren't there when we'd seen her months ago—there are lines on her face that were there but aren't any longer.  
  
"What're you doing here?" True whimpers, taking a hesitant step back.  
  
Inza has none of it, coming toe-to-toe with her daughter. True’s an inch taller than her mother; it doesn't make much difference, the way Inza stands tall and demanding, the way True slouches.  
  
"I've had enough of people in my house going off and not coming back and having things happen and have  _no one tell me about it_ , the last thing I know you were safe in Celadon and that was  _months_  ago, you never called after that, just left off and didn't tell me where you went, and then I hear about everything in Silph—I thought something had happened to you!"  
  
True isn't moving, and Inza is shaking enough for three, and there are tears in both their eyes. Her mother is a hurricane that blows Hyde back a few feet; he’s skittish under me, whimpering with all six of his heads.  
  
"And we have to hear from  _Tess Fargone_  that you're safe and in Cinnabar, we have to watch you on the  _Battle Network_  to see that you're not—not missing a limb, we knew absolutely nothing!"  
  
I'm glad I'm not on True's shoulder now as Inza wraps her arms tight around True. She grabs for handfuls of her daughter's hair as if trying to pull her even closer. True halfheartedly returns the embrace, though she nuzzles into her mother's hair like a tiny Meowth. "I'm safe," True says, in a quiet voice that shakes. "I'm here."  
  
"Here in the lab, not at home where you belong," Inza sobs. "Do you have absolutely  _any idea_  how worried sick I was? And your father—"  
  
Whatever True says is muffled by Inza’s hair. I don’t have to hear the words to know what she says—and even if I didn’t know, Inza’s stiffening posture would be a dead giveaway.  
  
"Do we give them a moment?" Hyde whispers.  
  
I don't answer him; I'm too busy staring at the flash in Inza's wet eyes as she looks up at her daughter. "You can't stay here at the lab, you're—you have a home here, with me and—"  
  
"I need time to think about a lot of things," True says, and further relaxes her limp grip. Inza, maybe in surprise or disbelief, takes a few steps back and stares blankly as True joins her hands together. "I can't do that if I'm home."  
  
Inza rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand—a gesture I have seen her daughter make a thousand times—and looks up, mascara and eyeliner smeared over an otherwise flawless face. "He wants to make up. He wants to talk to you."  
  
"You have to let me do this by myself," True says. There are tears trailing down her blotchy cheeks. The backs of my eyes start to burn. "Just like my journey. Okay? If… if I'm ready, I'll find you. I know where you b… where you are."  
  
Inza breathes a long and heavy sigh before turning her attention to me and Hyde. "This have something to do with them?"  
  
"It's not about them," True says. "It's... hard to explain, but someday I’ll find the words. And I'll be safe here." She takes a shuddering breath. "Let me do this, Mama."  
  
Maybe it's the pet name that finally gets to her. Inza sniffles and shakes her head, but balls her hands into tight fists and sighs. "I don’t like this.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“If I thought I could just force you home—”  
  
But Hyde steps boldly in front of the two women, saying nothing. It takes us all off guard. It’s True, somehow, who recovers first.  
  
"I'll try, Mom," True promises. "And… I’ll be okay. Be safe."  
  
There are no more hugs, only an awkward gaze shared between the two. Just a parting of the ways. We don't watch her leave down the trail back to Pallet Town but come to True, who rests her head against Hyde's trunk and crosses her arms. Hyde is leaning over, so it's just a simple fall onto the top of True's head. She grunts, but picks me up and holds me to her chest with trembling hands.  
  
"Wish I had arms, so I could hug you," Hyde says.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” True murmurs. “Just now.”  
  
“You’re my friend,” Hyde says simply. “And it’s my job to protect you.”  
  
I’m supposed to do that, too, but I seem to be failing at my job. "What d'you want to do now?" I say instead.  
  
It takes her a moment to respond. She adjusts her hold on me and draws a hand through her hair. "We need to talk,” she sighs, and looks up at a curious Hyde. “Tell Wilkes to gather the others.”  
  


* * *

  
"Didn't we do something like this in Fuchsia?"  
  
There's no one here on this stretch of the beach except the seven of us. We face each other in one loose circle, arms and tails and feet straddling the biggest blanket True had been able to find in the laboratory. Even Wilkes, though semi-transparent in the afternoon sun, hasn't shied away from us.  
  
"Casey played on his guitar," True says, and looks at me. When I nod, she continues. "But we didn't really... we didn't talk all that much."  
  
"We sang!" Hyde says.  
  
"Not well," Britt mutters.  
  
"It helped," True says. "We got a little closer. And when we trained in Cinnabar, we worked together as a team." True flops down on the blanket, brushing her hand against Clara's chest. "But I don't think... we don't have a lot of meetings like this, where we just talk about things."  
  
"You say what you want us to do, and we do it," Britt says. "Pretty standard Pokémon-Trainer relationship."  
  
"I want us to be more than that," she says.  
  
Britt snickers. "That'll get you arrested in most regions."  
  
"Not what she meant," I growl, shifting in True's lap.  
  
"There's a lot that I don't know about you guys, and there's..." True swallows. "There's not a lot you all know about me. Stuff I didn't really have to tell people because everyone here knows everything about everyone. You know? I didn’t have to say anything about the stupid haircut I had when I was thirteen, or me breaking my arm trying to fly off my roof when I was seven."  
  
I hadn't known True as anything more than another school kid, but I remember seeing her out with her mother running errands: her arm had been wrapped in a white cast covered in signatures. By the time she'd come back to school, it had been as though she hadn't worn it at all.  
  
"And..." She takes a shaky breath and looks heavenward, right into a heart-shaped cloud. "They knew about my dad.”  
  
There is surprise and shock and even fear in every pair of eyes—every pair except Clara's, which glint with sadness as they focus on me. I'm taken back to the fields north of Vermilion City, where I had stood with Kerri, Clara, and Minka. The two of us were the only ones who had known before this moment. Now everyone does. It's better this way.  
  
True tells the bare-bones story: how her father had been arrested five years ago, after a failed mission in the Pewter Museum. I think it's the only version she allows herself to tell, or even think about. Jackson and Hyde ask timid questions as the rest of us stare. She answers them willingly, shaking slightly. Yes, there had been hostility from the community—not much, because no one had been more surprised than Inza and her daughter. No, he hadn't left any money or Pokémon behind. She would have started her journey that year if she hadn't been afraid of her name.  
  
She'd had no idea her father had been a high figure in Team Rocket. No one had. That’s what had made it so scandalous.  
  
"He’s still locked up, right?” Hyde asks.  
  
I shake my head. “He gave Chris some information about their base in Saffron, which helped them take Silph Tower. Guess they let him go after that.”  
  
“Where is he now?”  
  
“At home,” True whispers. “My house. Not here, but close enough.”  
  
“What’re you going to do?” Hyde asks, as gentle as I’ve ever heard him.  
  
"I don't know," True whispers. "I still don't know if I'm going to finish the League challenge."  
  
"We're strong enough," Jackson says. "I'll beat up anyone who says we aren't."  
  
A smile ghosts over True's face. "It's not about you not being strong enough. It's if  _I'm_  strong enough for you guys. And if you guys even want to fight."  
  
The question is practically drowned out by incredulous cries and Britt’s swearing. It’s Jackson who makes himself heard over the din. "We could've left so many times, but we didn't. We stayed with you through all the… all the stuff, and it was good. And you care about us, and you take care of us.”  
  
“That’s my job,” she whispers. “And it’s my job to train you—”  
  
“And you do! You have to keep training us. We’ve got to be stronger.  _I’ve_  got to be stronger, so I can go back to Cinnabar.”  
  
We all turn to the Charizard, who has pulled back a little. I narrow my eyes. "To do what? Battle your mother?"  
  
“She almost killed you,” True whispers.  
  
"I don't know if I would've. She was still," he starts to say, then shakes his head. " I’ve been thinking about it a lot, since that battle in the Pokémon Center. She thinks I'm dead. I'm not the little kid I was when we lost each other. I don't want to be that anymore. I haven't been that for a long time. I'm strong and I can fly and I've beaten gym leaders. I'm not scared of people. She is. Has been," he corrects. "They all were. And I don't remember much of... where did you call it?"  
  
True reaches across the blanket to brush a finger against Jackson's clawed toe. "Mt. Silver," True says softly.  
  
"That. But I remember them talking about humans. That they said you were mean and greedy and would use you however they wanted. My mother didn't believe that, or I don't think she did. But maybe she's changed, the way I've changed. I don't know," he says, and shakes his head. "I don't know if things make sense anymore. I know I'm good at fighting. And I know I want to fight with you. And maybe if I can show her that I've gotten stronger..."  
  
"It won't help anything," Britt says.  
  
Jackson growls. "You don't know that."  
  
"Someone who's that set in their ways won't change with a battle. You don't earn love by beating someone into the ground."  
  
"It's different with Charizard. It's different with wild Pokémon."  
  
"I know that's the way it works on the streets of Vermilion, and that seems like a fucking good life philosophy to me."  
  
When the hell had this become a confessional? And when had Britt decided to bare her soul? There's surprise in our faces as we turn to the Blastoise, but it's True who speaks after a stunned silence. "You were...?"  
  
And Britt laughs. "Long enough to earn a few things. Lived like that for a while before Eunice found me, after he caught me breaking into his house after a bad fight. Nursed me up. Gave me a safe place to get away from it all, get some food that didn't come out of a garbage can. He took me in after I saved him from some punk who tried to rob him. I think that's why I wasn't rounded up by the police the way the others were."  
  
"Maybe you were just too smart for them," Hyde suggests.  
  
"I was an idiot," she says simply. “And lucky.”  
  
We must be in an alternate world. It's the only reason I can think of for Britt and Jackson to be opening up like this, for Hyde to not be saying anything.  
  
"Well, this has been on my mind.” True looks up at Wilkes, who loops his fingers around each other. “Hyde was able to tell me that my mother was here before she found me, and he said… he said you warned him?”  
  
He nods.  
  
“How?” True asks. “I thought only psychic-type Pokémon had that ability.”  
  
"Ghost-types can hack psychic networks," I whisper, remembering the police station in Celadon. “But I didn’t think that meant you could… you know, talk with them.”  
  
"I’d been in the Pokémon Tower long enough to hear of the theory, but I'd never had a practice partner. It takes special training for a psychic-type Pokémon to access and utilize that network, and even then it is only used for specific purposes. Mass communication, mostly. But Hyde and I spent a lot of time in Cinnabar testing and playing until we were able to create a line of our own. A special link.”  
  
"We can get a few miles if we concentrate really hard," the Exeggutor says proudly. "But we're still practicing."  
  
It is a combination I never would have expected: the solemn Haunter and the eccentric Exeggutor, working together. But they meet eyes and Hyde laughs, muttering words softly under his breath.  
  
Everyone seems to be clicking in unexpected patterns. Everyone's learning and growing.  
  
"That's... good," True says, and smiles—a genuine one that actually lights up her eyes. "I'm really proud of you both."  
  
What have I done that’s worth anything?  
  
"Bet the kids in the lab would piss themselves to hear you'd figured that out," Britt says.  
  
"I bet they'd love seeing you dance," Jackson says. "All that moving around stuff."  
  
Clara chortles. Britt huffs, but there's a smile on her face. "Used to dance when I was a Wartortle. It's just a matter of getting used to my body again."  
  
"I bet we could all try dancing," True says. "It worked well in the dojo."  
  
"Clara was good," I say, remembering her battle with the foreign Pokémon.  
  
"I remember when you fell on your butt," Jackson laughs. Everyone joins in—even True is chuckling.  
  
Laughter sounds much better bouncing off these hills than Hyde's amplified voice. I join it halfheartedly.  
  
Dinner tastes like sawdust in my mouth. I eat very little. I say very little, even when Jackson snorts so hard he makes water explode from his nose. It takes him an hour to calm him down, and another to bring Hyde back from hysteria. Wilkes even seems to be smiling, even after he's recalled back into his Poké Ball. The others choose to sleep outside--they've had enough of sleeping inside stuffy rooms. True doesn't blame them.   
  
It's a habit to go to bed with her. When she slips under the covers, teeth brushed and face washed, I'm already curled up in a tiny nest of blankets. When she looks at me, there's a smile on her face. "That went better than I expected."  
  
Come morning, they'll go out and test their abilities. If there's a road, they'll find it. No—they'll carve it with their cannons and their blasts of fire and stomp it flat and travel down it, and arrive... somewhere else. Somewhere that's far from here.  
  
"You were quiet during dinner," True says. "Everything okay?"  
  
Oak's in my head again.  _"It would do them more harm than good to be with her."_  
  
"Yeah," I mutter. "'M fine. Get t'sleep."  
  
There's unease in her eyes, but her head hits the pillow. "See you in the morning," she says, and settles into sleep. She falls asleep right before my eyes; in moments, she's snoring soundly, curled into herself.  
  
I wait a few minutes, just in case she starts awake. When enough time passes that I feel confident, I whisper my way to the window. It only takes a flick of the wrist to undo the lock; it's only a short jump to the yard.  
  
Tonight there is no moon, only the thinnest crescent of light. I have to follow the stars. There's a twinging in my toes that doesn't go away even as I hit the river, as I follow it down to the big rock. Cassidy's pawprints from the other night have faded, swallowed up by the overflowing bank. There's only a trace of her scent here.  
  
She's probably out doing huge things. Changing the world. Everyone will have been moving, has been moving, and all I've been is on the sidelines. I like being there, it's safe and I don't get hurt. But everyone else is growing and what can I do? Jolt a little bit. Perform Quick Attack, a basic move I should have mastered years ago.  
  
 _Do more harm than good._  
  
I take a deep breath, aim for a patch of berries overhead—  
  
"Casey?"  
  
I misfire with a cry. The bolt of lightning arcs up to the tip of a tree, which ignites with a small spark. I hardly have a chance to react before a burst of water fires from behind, dousing the tree before it can catch fire. I turn around.  
  
Cassidy and I stare at each other for a long, long time. This is the first time we've been alone in months, since that day in Cerulean. I'm too nervous to think about that., to do anything but stare—it's the only way I notice her eyes narrow, see her body tense. "Is everything okay?" she asks, her ears twitching back behind her head.  
  
Every nerve in my body is firing, I can't keep still, everything is starting to blur—there's something throbbing in my throat and I'm choking on it every time I swallow, and I can't think, I can't focus, I—  
  
I'm dripping wet. Cassidy is crouched low on the ground, shifting her weight as water dribbles down her mouth. Her eyes are clear and bright and beautifully brown, they are clear and looking wide at me.  
  
I run toward her anyway.  
  
There is a place in the back of my head that is watching transfixed, horrified. But my body doesn't listen to it. I don't remember where I've felt this rush or this longing—it's been a while. It feels familiar. It feels catastrophically right.  
  
She is a solid weight when I collide into her. We are a tangle of electricity and bursts of water and sharp fangs and rudder tails. She slams her tail against me and rolls over me; I bite and kick and zap. She is under me and over me and all around me, and her scent is everywhere and bleeding into mine. There's blood in my mouth and I can't tell who's it is, mine or hers. We don't stop until I stop struggling, until there is no more electricity to fire. When there's a dull ache in my cheeks and an emptiness in my belly and the pounding thing has left my throat, she pulls herself away from me, standing on bent and trembling legs.  
  
There are bite marks on her shoulder, there's a slight charring to the frills of her ears—and no sooner do I recognize that, and recognize that I am the cause, I am bending and trembling with her.  
  
"I—I'm—"  
  
"Shh," she says softly. "Watch."  
  
And I do, for every step she makes into the river. As she disappears into the lightly churning waters. As she steps out onto the shore looking as though our fight had never taken place: no bite marks, no blood, no fraying. Just a new brightness to her eyes, a new wariness.  
  
"They still don't know why Vaporeon can do that," she says, as I gape at her. "Something to do with us being able to melt into the water. And I don't know how that works, either. But it heals me."  
  
I'm still aching everywhere, but this time in a new place. "I hurt you," I say, and try to force the coming tremble out. "And I could've... I might've—"  
  
"I've had harder battles."  
  
When she wraps herself around me, I don't fight it. I sink into her touch and drown myself in it. She smells like the river, clear and wild, but there is a musk underneath that is familiar, that is  _Cassidy_. I find her chest and press my ear against it, hear her heart beating a firm and triumphant beat.  
  
"What's going on?" she asks softly.  
  
I can blame my quickening feet for separating us by inches. "What I said in Cerulean... it wasn't—"  
  
"It's how you felt." Her eyes dim. She sits, wrapping her tail around her. "And it's—"  
  
"It's not okay! It was... I was out of line." I push myself away, just enough to meet her in the eye. "I've wanted to tell you that for a while. And I'm sorry."  
  
I had wanted something else than this confession. I wanted—I don't even know. For this not to be messy? For things to go effortlessly right? Maybe I'd wanted to sweep this under the rug and forget that this had even happened.  
  
Life's not like that, though. It never has been, no matter how much I've wanted it to be.  
  
"Is that really why you're so upset?"  
  
There is a two second pause where I think about lying. It is an upsetting thing, this position that we've found ourselves in. But it is not  _the_  upsetting thing, not right now. And everyone's been on an honesty kick today. I might as well follow the trend.  
  
"Oak told me I shouldn't go with True if I can't be a battler."  
  
Cassidy's growl rumbles low in her throat. "That’s stupid. He's wrong. She needs you."  
  
"She doesn't, though." I laugh, and it's bitter on my tongue. "She's making decisions by herself, she's earned seven badges. And those are all... it's what I've wanted for her. I was only supposed to be with her until Vermilion. I've been there for her through her breakdowns and that's been... huge, with what's happened. I've fought in two gyms, but that was—anyone could've done that. But if she's taking the Victory Run..." I close my eyes. "She'll need battlers, and she'll need someone better than me."  
  
"Do you even have any other team mates?"  
  
"She has two months to find one and train one. And that shouldn't be hard for her, if she really works at it. She'll find someone who actually wants to fight the League and I'll..."  
  
And that’s the thing: I don’t know. Would I go back to the school and be a companion Pokémon for the children? Continue to be a ghost haunting the laboratory? I don’t know if I can go back to that life, having traveled around the region and having seen the things that I’ve seen. I don’t know, and that terrifies me.  
  
"Do you even want to fight?"  
  
"I'm not sure if I know how."  
  
"It might not solve everything, but you can learn."  
  
When will everything I say stop tasting so bitter? "I'm so far behind everyone, I don't know if I'd be able to pick myself back up."  
  
There is a long stretch of time where the only thing I can hear is the gurgling of the river, the rustling of the trees in the wind, our breathing. When I open my eyes, Cassidy is staring right at me. There's determination there.  
  
"You can train with me."  
  
It takes me so off guard that I spark—just a flash of illumination, but it has me seeing stars. "Your team would kill me before I laid a paw on you."  
  
"Not with them. Right here," she says, and gestures to the river. "It'll be like secret training. We meet at night and just spar. Maybe no elemental attacks at first. But if things get too rough, we know to call it off. And I have the river right here to heal me."  
  
I still haven't cleaned the blood out of my mouth—I taste copper and wince. "And what's here to heal me?"  
  
"I'll go easy on you," she teases. "After a few weeks of one-on-one, you can train with your team. I'll go back and train with mine. I've wanted to do more endurance training, anyway."  
  
It's an idea that I would have balked at months ago. Years ago, when I had already known that the tiny Eevee they'd brought in from a breeding center could out-battle me without breaking a sweat, I wouldn't have thought of it. It is a too-telling sign when I don't disagree, not at first.  
  
"What if we don't go to the League?"  
  
"You never know when a few levels will give you the advantage," she says.  
  
And what if we do?  
  
She seems to know the question I'm asking myself. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."  
  
My head is in my paws. Cassidy stands up and takes a deep breath. "It might not be the answer you're looking for, and you don't have to decide right away. I'll understand if you don't want to fight with me, after everything—"  
  
"It's not that," I say forcefully. "It's... that's my own thing. I trust you." I meet her eyes, which have grown wide. "I trust you," I repeat. "And if you're serious—"  
  
"I am," she says, unflinching. "If you trust me."  
  
There is something building in my gut, burning hot and heavy. I can see stars between the winding branches of the trees, pinpricks of dazzling light in an inky black sky. I feel my heart beating in my chest, right where it's supposed to be.  
  
"You’re absolutely sure about this,” I ask softly.  
  
“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” she replies, just as quiet.  
  
There’s a gap in the canopy. I look up to see two stars blinking in unison with each other.  
  
“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	73. Chapter Sixty-Seven

This is the routine.  
  
Watch the others from the sidelines, take note in how they move and strike. Train. Drill. Dance. Bask in the late-summer sun when our muscles cry for a break, lay in the shade when skin begins to flake from our skin. Do not accompany True to her Wednesday lunches with her mother; watch her eyes narrow when someone (Hyde, always Hyde) asks how it went.  
  
Have dinner alongside Gary’s team, but not with them. Watch Sheldon bristle his dark plates in warning, watch Britt extend her gleaming cannons. Keep Boston and Jackson for fighting with fire right in the kitchen or out in the yard. Do not look Gary in the eye, keep True from doing the same. Make eye contact with Cassidy. A nod tonight means a meeting tomorrow. Watch her murmur something that makes the floating Magneton laugh. Wonder if they are the reason Jet the Fearow had died.  
  
Watch the team be sucked into their balls, settle in with True for the night. Watch her read letters sent from Saffron City, hear her plan out replies in half-conscious whispers.  
  
Some nights, settle into her side and hope morning comes quickly. Other nights, slip out the bedroom window for the river.  
  
Cassidy is a patient teacher, a demanding one. Strike the branch on the topmost tree, watch it fall into the river below. Litter the river with dirt and sticks; pick the sticks out of the river, the birds hate litter. Dig for every scrap of energy and find a use for it. Keep on your toes. Don’t get slapped by her tail, it’s a long rope of muscle and the fins can actually hurt.  
  
Talk about training. Do not talk about feelings.  
  
Listen to her insist that I’m improving, that I’ve done more in three weeks than either of us could have imagined. Know she isn’t lying, but know it isn’t enough.  
  
The others had battled furiously, day in and day out, for months to get where they are. I've only had a few weeks of on-and-off training. She's absolutely right and I can't deny this. "It's still frustrating," I admit, and kick a pebble into the water.  
  
Hear her say, "That's part of battling. But you push through it."  
  
Bathe the dirt and blood from our fur, ignore the bits of sand that still find homes between our toes. Walk that winding road back up to the lab as the sky lightens. Promise each other “tomorrow” and part ways. Crawl into bed with every limb aching and hope for morning to stretch out. Be stirred awake just hours later with gentle touches. Drop a letter off.  
  
Repeat, over and over again.  
  


* * *

  
Cassidy gives me homework.  
  
The first two "assignments" have been simple observation: how do my teammates move? How does True behave in battle? I cheat on these assignments—insisting on being kept outside of my ball, and therefore on the sidelines alongside True, has given me plenty of experience in watching the synergy between True and the others.  
  
This week, she's told me to get in the action myself. And I've been stalling.  
  
I hadn't lied in Cinnabar—the near-disaster in the Seafoam Islands had been the world's biggest wake-up call. There's a difference between fighting for sport and fighting for your life, and if this journey has taught me anything, it's that I'm just barely competent at either. In six long sessions, I've felt myself growing stronger. I can hit things with more accuracy, and I've been leaving my mark on the dirt and the trees. I've even bruised Cassidy a few times. It's one thing to hit the scenery, especially when it doesn't move; it's another to hit a living thing.  
  
Frankly, I'm nervous of trying to battle with Britt or Jackson watching. Just yesterday I had seen Jackson melt one of the smaller boulders into a puddle of white-hot molten rock; I had seen Britt break a tree in two from a high-powered blast from her cannons. The others are intimidating in their own right, but it is obvious who the two main battlers are on this team. They're good. They've worked hard at it, and they deserve it, but it doesn't make them any less scary.  
  
They're off dueling now, while True and Wilkes help Hyde with his Hypnosis. Clara is taking a break from training, curled up into herself by the roots of a tall oak tree.   
  
"The trick is to keep direct eye contact," Wilkes says. His eyes are already beginning to glow a dusky purple. "If they don't, you lose your chance at incapacitating them."  
  
"If you can use all of your heads, it makes it a lot harder for enemies to evade your attack." True steps away from the two. "So let's try it on Wilkes, and then—"  
  
"Can I try?"  
  
I don't know which one is worse: True's surprise, Hyde's almost-comical shock, or Wilkes's delayed satisfaction. True rapidly blinks the surprise out of her eyes and stiffens. "You're sure?"  
  
I take a deep breath and walk forward. "It's just keeping from falling asleep, right? It might be helpful."  
  
"If he's in the mood for it, we should let him," Wilkes says.  
  
Do it before I chicken out. Nice.  
  
"Okay," True says. "Hang back, Wilkes."  
  
I am small, and Hyde is huge. With my heart pounding, he seems almost as tall as the tree Clara's resting under.   
  
"This is good," I hear True murmur assuredly to herself. And in a louder voice, she calls out, "Are you comfortable with attacking him, Casey?"  
  
He's probably the only one who wouldn't take much damage from my attacks. "If he's only going to try and put me to sleep. The temporary kind."  
  
"I wouldn't hurt you!" Hyde says, shocked, and turns to True. “I wouldn’t hurt anybody if I didn’t have to.”  
  
"He knows," True says, and stares meaningfully at me. She only continues once I nod. "Okay. Hyde, you try not to get hit by those Thunderbolts. And Casey, don't get hit by Hypnosis."  
  
Hyde leans forward. I had expected more bile in my mouth. But Hyde won't hurt me. True won't let him.  
  
"Go!"  
  
I close my eyes just as Hyde’s begin to glow pale green. Summoning a Thunderbolt is as easy as breathing; I don’t hear it strike but I hear Hyde’s surprised gasps. He takes a tentative step forward—or at least I think it’s forward.  
  
“Look down at the ground,” True says, “and run!”  
  
And I take a few steps forward, sneaking a peek at the grassy ground. Hyde’s footsteps rumble in the ground underneath him; it makes him easy to track. I run to the side and fire again, this time at True’s assertive command.  
  
“Hyde, try picking him up.”  
  
My skin tingles. I can run and I can move my body, but I’m hoisted into the air effortlessly. It doesn’t feel like flying and it doesn’t feel like swimming—it’s like gravity simply doesn’t work anymore. I fire another Thunderbolt and watch it hit Hyde’s huge feet. The itching feeling is gone only for a moment, but a moment is all I need to kick the air and shoot up into the forest of Hyde’s hair. The Exeggutor bows sharply, but I hold on by a tendril of leaf-like hair. I squeeze my eyes shut.  
  
“You look kinda funny hanging in front of me like that,” Hyde says.  
  
I almost peek. “You trying to trick me?”  
  
“No. That’s a good idea though,” the Exeggutor admits. “Would it work?”  
  
“Now it wouldn’t.”  
  
I hear Wilkes’s ghostly laughter, Clara’s amused warbling, True’s chuckling. “You two want to stop, or should we keep going?”  
  
Hyde bows low enough so that I only have to fall a few feet back to solid ground. I should be safe here from his glowing eyes. True’s smile is my reward. “If Hyde’s okay with it, I’m game.”  
  
“You both are growing stronger,” Wilkes remarks.  
  
Laughter bubbles from each of Hyde’s heads. “It’s a good day. The sun is out, we’re all laughing together, True’s shirt is clean…”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” True laughs.  
  
I yawn and stretch my paws up to my head. “Means we’re having a good time. So, Hyde…”  
  
And I look up, and Hyde looks down with every eye glowing.  
  
Colors whirl together and shapes collide into each other. I am only just aware of Clara’s startled whistle and Hyde’s “Awwww” before sound disappears and everything goes to black.  
  


* * *

  
It's the scratching that wakes me. There's a long moment where all I can see is a spot of orange-yellow light from the corner of a dark space. Things solidify. The light illuminates True, still in her daytime clothes. The stack of letters from Sherri is resting by True's elbow; she has to reach past them to grab another piece of paper.  
  
There's a serenity to her writing that I'm reluctant to break, so I stay on the bed and just watch her as she finishes writing and slips the folded letter into an envelope. She’s licking the back of it when she turns around and meets my eyes. There’s a flicker of surprise on her face when she asks, “How long have you been awake?”  
  
I had lost track of the time between waking and watching. I shrug into the blankets.  
  
“You missed dinner,” True says. She swivels around and reaches for something beside the lamp. The apple shines in the orange light. When she throws the fruit over to me, it doesn’t give. “I was worried about you.”  
  
“’M fine.” Sweet juice explodes in my mouth when I take a bite. It is all I can do to keep from shuddering. “Didn’t realize I was so hungry.”  
  
"You trained hard," she says, and shuts the lamp off. Darkness floods quickly into the room. "And you did good.”  
  
She undresses while I finish my apple, core and seeds and all. I’m cleaning juice from my mouth when she places her envelope on the bedside counter and comes to sit beside me. My eyes grow heavy as her fingers trace patterns into my arm; I brush up against her side and lay there, concentrate on her breathing. “She’s doing okay?”  
  
There’s a smile in her voice when she replies. “The play opens in a few weeks, so they have her on all kinds of deadlines, but I guess she’s learning a lot and having fun. She says hi.”  
  
"Will you say hi for me back?" I ask, even though I'd seen her seal the envelope. But she nods and absentmindedly runs her finger down my arm.  
  
"Can I ask you something?” True asks. She shifts a bit and I blink lazily up at her. She’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, and when she meets my eyes I feel as though I’m being interviewed. "Where do you go at night?"  
  
She’s such a sound sleeper. I’m a fool for thinking she wouldn’t have noticed me coming and going. The only real surprise is that it’s taken her this long to ask. "To the river."  
  
The hand on my side twitches, as though it’s torn between balling up or squeezing me. "What do you do there?"  
  
It isn't worth it to lie to her about this, not anymore. "I'm training."  
  
"By yourself?" True asks. Her hands are gentle when she picks me up and adjusts me so that we face each other. "If you wanted to train with us, you could've said so."  
  
Train with the experts as a rookie. Yeah.  
  
"This isn’t like you,” she says, and shifts me to her belly. “Did something happen that you're just not telling me?"  
  
The tiny “no” that comes out feels more like a question than an answer. But I won’t take the Professor from her, not when he’s been so kind and supportive throughout the years.  
  
“You can tell me—”  
  
“It’s a pride thing,” I blurt out, and the words are heavy and raw and they feel wrong, the way truth does. "I couldn’t do a Quick Attack when we were in Cinnabar. Now I can. And I can aim better. It’s just… I wanted to be stronger before I trained with you all.”  
  
“They wouldn’t have made fun of you. Not even Britt,” she says, as I open my mouth. “Not when you’re trying to get better at fighting.”  
  
“Right now it’s just a matter of building my confidence. I figure once I do that I can really… be a part of this team, you know?”  
  
She looks over to the window, where the branches of the moon-blocking tree are swaying. "Are you going to train tonight?”  
  
We had had only a side-line glance and a nod last night to confirm our meeting. “I think so.”  
  
“And you’ll be safe?”  
  
Is there such a thing as ‘safe’ in a battle? In living? “No more dangerous than training with you,” I say, and nuzzle her chin. “I trust her.”  
  
“I trust you,” she says instead, and breathes a sigh. "Okay. Be careful. Have fun."  
  
It seems like a weird thing to say to someone who leaves in the middle of the night to be voluntarily beaten up. It doesn't take away the slight smile on my face as I hop out the open window.  
  
The nights have been getting colder as September has passed; now, in the first few days of October, there's a definite autumn chill to the air. The road from the lab to our spot on the river winds through silent trees—by now, all of the Pidgey have fallen asleep in their nests. Once in a while I’ll dart forward in a burst of energy, a warm-up for practice. Cassidy is already there when I arrive, just slightly out of breath and sluggish from my late-night snack. I only have to approach the bank for her to notice me, and when she does it's with a lazy smile.  
  
In the darkness, I can see the weary set of her mouth and the tired slump of her shoulders. "Was it a hard day?”  
  
"Just got pushed hard, that's all," she says, and slinks out of the river to face the shoreline. "So I was thinking about this today during training. Do you know any of the hidden moves?"  
  
All I can see is the uneasy sway of her tail. “No.”  
  
“I guess if you needed them, True would teach you. But it’s really just a matter of principle. You reach down into the core of your being and find your inner energy, and manipulate it…”  
  
"Let's take a break."  
  
"And then—huh?" She pauses mid-word to look at me with tired eyes.  
  
"You're pushing yourself too hard," I say. "Doesn't that do something to your body, to push yourself past your limits?"  
  
"That's the point of training," she says, and blinks slowly. "And I give myself plenty of breaks to catch up, I'm…"  
  
The telltale yawn is justification enough. I raise my brow. "One night off won't do us any harm.”  
  
Though she does roll her eyes, Cassidy sighs and settles back down into the surf.  
  
We had only agreed to two weeks of this, but September had stretched on and we had shown no signs of stopping. We would trade blows, discuss tactics, and then break apart to our separate teams. The times we saw each other outside of these training practices were few and far between. Our teams would come together for meal times, but we very much segregated ourselves. Hyde and Gary’s Exeggcute were the only ones who would cross enemy lines; from what little I had been able to overhear, they had known each other in the Safari Zone. Their babbling about old friends was always strange, compared to the relative silence from the rest of us.  
  
Cassidy clears her throat and turns to face me. “Did you finish your assignment?”  
  
Do I move closer toward her? Do I sit on the rock? Start by answering the question. “I did. I battled Hyde.”  
  
"The Exeggutor?”  
  
“Yeah. He was trying to perfect his Hypnosis attack. I was supposed to dodge.” I smile. "He's getting better. I was asleep for a while."  
  
"It sounds like he'll be good for the gym."  
  
The stars are twinkling above our heads, tiny dancing lights. "We still haven't signed up for an appointment."  
  
"She's still not sure about battling?" Cassidy asks. "There's no reason to train this hard if you're not going to battle the gym."  
  
"She still has to have that interview," I say. I settle into the sand a few feet away from her, keeping a careful distance. "How does that even work?"  
  
"They only talk to the trainers," Cassidy says. I can feel her tense beside me. "It's to make sure they understand the risks that come with starting the Victory Run, and what's expected of them if they complete it." She pauses. "Or what happens if they don't."  
  
"Gary must've made it through okay."  
  
"He said it went alright. Pokémon aren't allowed in the room at all," she says softly. "I don't know if they'd make an exception for you and True—"  
  
"I'm not a licensed therapy Pokémon," I murmur.  
  
"You never have told me why you aren’t.”  
  
There is a long and complicated story behind it, but the gist is this: Pallet Town is such a small settlement that filling out the paperwork to verify me as a therapy Pokémon wouldn't have been worth it. "It wasn't needed," I say, and shrug. "I did what I needed to do, and it worked out."  
  
"Hmm,” she says, and looks up into the stars.  
  
It is the longest non-battling conversation we have had. It feels like things have gone back to normal again. But even though I’ve attacked her and sparred with her, I can’t bring myself to close the distance between us. Non-violent touching seems to be taboo.  
  
“Change for your thoughts?” Cassidy asks.  
  
I must have that “concentrating too hard” look on my face. Shit. “You’ll need more than change.”  
  
“Apple worthy?”  
  
“A bushel.”  
  
She whistles low. “Intense.”  
  
I will admit that I blurt more things out than I mean to. Like my mouth just can’t handle all the unconscious questions that are lurking around in my brain. But I am very conscious of these words, which I pry out gently, intentionally. I even look her in the eye when I ask them.  
  
“Are we okay?”  
  
And Cassidy looks back at me, her ears perked and her tired eyes losing some of their tiredness, and asks, “Are we?”  
  
“I don’t know,” I say.  
  
“Do you want to be?”  
  
There is a part of me that knows there are lines between us. We’re on separate teams, on separate tracks. If we battle the League, we won’t both win. One of us will win, and another will lose. We could get hurt. We could get more than hurt. This fragile peace that we’ve built could snap in seconds.  
  
“I know things can’t go back to being the way they were. And I should have said something sooner. Both… both now,” I say, flailing a paw, “and before.”  
  
Water drips from her chin and belly when she pulls herself out of the river, and settles herself onto the shore, where dirt and sand collect. I am very aware of the flecks of brown in her honey-colored eyes. “You already apologized.”  
  
“It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You’re doing all this training with me, and I can’t do anything for you. It’s like I’m a Zubat, leeching the life out of you.”  
  
“You’re not a Zubat. And if you were,” she says with a smirk, “I could take you on.”  
  
“Be serious,” I murmur. “There’s no reason for you to do this.”  
  
“Who says?”  
  
“Common sense?”  
  
She sighs. “If it ever comes down to Gary and True battling each other, I want the best fight possible. That means you have to be as strong as possible.”  
  
I can’t help but laugh. “So you’re using me to boost your ego down the road?”  
  
“Maybe a little,” she admits. “And… maybe I have this dumb idea that it’ll make up for what happened in Silph. Which isn’t the whole reason, but it’s a big part, and… well,” she finishes lamely.  
  
When it becomes clear she won’t say anything else, I close the distance between us. I put a paw on her shoulder and play with the fine hairs, brush against the knotted muscles. “You already apologized for that.”  
  
The powerful slip of her tail comes to rest at the small of my back, a guiding force that brings me closer to her. I settle in the space between her shoulder and her side as her tail comes to drape over me, a comforting weight. She lifts her head and breathes in the cool night air with a sad sort of smile on her face. “I’m not mad at you.”  
  
“I’m not mad at you,” I say. If I am mad at anything, it is that death exists, that the two of us and everyone we’ve ever known is entangled somewhere in it. “I wish we had talked more about this before.”  
  
“We have a little time,” she says. “If there’s anything you want to get off your chest.”  
  
"Well. Maybe we can just rest," I say, and lean onto her shoulder. "And not say anything at all."  
  
"Let's not," she agrees.  
  
So we don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	74. Chapter Sixty-Eight

“…so nice and snuggly…”  
  
“…have you ever slept that hard?”  
  
There are voices pounding in my head and rumbling through my bones. I bury my nose in something soft, inhale the smell of sea salt and wet fur.  
  
“Gary's going to be so upset if he finds her like this.”  
  
“No, it'll be okay! Watch!”  
  
My skin tingles, and I am lifted. I have to fight to open my heavy eyes. Everything is bright. Hyde's eyes are bright as he stares right at me with satisfaction on every face. “There, all good! And—ooh, Jekyll, you owe me food at dinner tonight.”  
  
His breath stinks. Or is that mine? I turn my limp head to Cassidy; she’s arching her back, slow to wake, blinking tired eyes up at Hyde and me. The Exeggcute beside her is hobbling and chittering away in quick words that my sleep-slow ears miss. Shadows are dancing in the daylight—  
  
Wait. In the daylight.  
  
Cassidy and I realize this in tandem as we flail awake. Hyde’s psychic grip is so strong that I can only jerk my arms forward; Cassidy is much more fluid in her waking, though she stumbles when she comes to her feet. Her eyes are wide when she slurs a panicked, “S'time?”  
  
“Training time,” says the Exeggcute. “The others aren't awake yet, but I found Hyde and we didn't see you, so we thought—“  
  
“Jekyll’s good at tracking, so we decided to come and find you! And we did!”  
  
“This shouldn’t have,” she starts to say, and shakes her head. One of the Exeggcute heads jumps onto her broad shoulders, just missing her frilled neck. Her eyes are panic-bright when she looks up at me. “I’ll find you later!”  
  
I have just enough time to stutter a hesitant “Later” before Cassidy and the Exeggcute run out of sight.  
  
“She seems nice,” Hyde says. “So why were you over here? Does it have to do with you battling me yesterday?”  
  
I can still smell sea salt.  
  
Hyde puts me back down on the ground and shakes the leaves on his head. “Because this is a really nice place to train, all quiet and stuff. Maybe we should tell the others—“  
  
“No!” Britt knowing about this place is enough. I try shaking the sleep out of my limbs and look up at Hyde. “Where's True?”  
  
“Well that's why I came to find you! She left really early this morning with Britt, and you weren't with her. So I thought…”  
  
I don’t remember anything between that moment of silence with Cassidy and waking up. It had been a good sleep, one of the best I’d had in ages. If we hadn’t had training and our teams to walk back to, would we have stayed there? Talked more? I’ve shot my internal clock to hell after these past few weeks of training, so I have no idea what time it is other than ‘morning.’ Had True worried about me?  
  
“…And you're not listening. Wakey wakey, Casey.”  
  
Head in the game. I shake my head. “And she didn't tell you where she went?”  
  
“No, she just let me out to wander around a bit. I'm not supposed to go out into town anymore by myself. But now that I've found you and we're together, maybe we can go explore?”  
  
But where would she have gone on such short notice, with  _Britt_  for company?  
  
“I don't think True's going to come back for a while, she said she might take a while.”  
  
The only thing Britt likes doing in battling, and the only good place to battle around Pallet is— _shit_.  
  
“What's wrong?”  
  
“She's in Viridian.” I want to slam my paws against my head. “She's making her gym appointment.” She wouldn't battle without me there, would she? Cinnabar had been different, we’d understood—  
  
“Well maybe we can go catch up to her!” Hyde interrupts. “She seemed kinda down when she left the rest of us, so I’d bet she’d be happy to see you!”  
  
_Fuck me._  “So it’s just her and Britt?”  
  
“At least that I saw. Oh, she might have taken Wilkes, just in his ball. Clara was napping when Jekyll and I passed her, and Jackson's out training somewhere. I don't see why he gets to go wherever he wants and I don't. He's the one with the fire.”  
  
Because Jackson, though prone to hotheadedness, knows not to stomp around towns making a spectacle of himself. I sigh. “Let's go then.”  
  
Hyde hoists me up into his grass-like hair, and we go off. There are plenty of paths through the woods, and I know them like the back of my paw. We stick to the trails that lead away from Pallet Town, that dump right onto the edges of Route One. Curious Pidgey and Rattata blink at us from their nests and burrows. Maybe it’s Hyde’s heavy walking or the few discharges I release, but they are quick to avert their eyes and carry on their ways.  
  
“You can be so unfriendly,” Hyde tuts. “Maybe they just wanted to talk.”  
  
“We’re on a mission,” I say. “We don’t have time to talk.”  
  
But the stretch of road before us is long and winding, the perfect environment for small talk. The hazy morning light has solidified into streams that filter in through the shading canopy. It really must be October, because the leaves are just starting to brown. We are not the only Pokémon in the forest or the grasslands, but we are the loudest. Hyde fills the silence with his booming voices, merrily chatting about the bright skies, the warm weather, good company—  
  
“So I just realized, you never met Jekyll! Did you like them?”  
  
The pronoun catches my attention. “They… seemed nice. For the five seconds I saw them.”  
  
“Oh yeah, they’re great,” Hyde says. “I used to know them when we were in the Safari Zone, but they got caught way before I ever did… they probably could’ve saved me from that Scyther—d’you remember that Scyther? I do, and it was scary…”  
  
Exeggcute-Hyde being caught right from the tree is something I wouldn’t be able to forget anytime soon.  
  
“And then after that I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and then the whole ‘being captured thing’ was so exciting we could hardly talk straight.”  
  
“I remember,” I say. The halting speech, the words tumbling over each other from different mouths. “I thought it was just you talking super fast.”  
  
“No,” Hyde says. His voice quiets. “That happens when Exeggcute don’t have strong psychic links. The heads kind of do their own thing. Only not  _really_ , because they all have to stay together, so it’s kind of like, you know, being tied together but not cooperating.”  
  
Like sticking two fighting children in a “get along” shirt. “So each head had its own consciousness?”  
  
“Kind of.” He tilts his head. “It was like having a big room that everyone shouted in, only it was inside my—our—heads, and only some of that would get filtered through our mouths. Does that make sense?”  
  
“Kind of,” I repeat.  
  
“I had a Doduo friend who said it was something like that with them. But when Exeggcute evolve, see, one of the heads takes over. Usually the strongest one. That was me. And then the others… I don’t really know what happens to them, but I never hear them anymore. Now it’s like I have six mouths to talk out of instead of one, and I’m in full control. It’s just me.” Hyde laughs. “It’s a lot better than suddenly growing a third head. I’d hate to be a Dodrio!”  
  
I’m scared of being in my own head; there’s no way I would have been able to compete with five or six. Or even three. Ripper the Dodrio had been terrifying enough, with long beaks and beady eyes, without the chaos from three independent heads.  
  
I scratch my temple with a weary paw and look up at the cloudless sky. “So, uh… so if I want to, y'know—”  
  
“He and they,” Hyde says confidently. “It’s okay to just call me ‘he’ though, if that makes you feel better.”  
  
But even though Hyde can’t see me, I shake my head. “Me being comfortable isn’t what’s important.”  
  
“I mean, we could just steer clear of the whole thing and have you call me Hyde.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant.” Or at least I don't think it is. We must be getting close to the city; I can hear the low thrum of chattering people just a little ways away.  
  
“I’m really comfortable either way right now. Sometimes that changes, and if it does I’ll let everyone know. But I’m really, really okay with ‘he.’”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
Hyde nods. “I’d pinky-promise if I had hands. Now off we go!”  
  
And with a final guffaw, we push past the tree line and into the eastern part of the city.  
  
Viridian has exploded with color since we were last here. The Indigo League matches are a month away, and already there are banners strung from gutters and windows. Most of them advertise shopping specials—“Buy Your Favorite Battlers in Plush Form! Plan Your Viewing Parties Today! Johtoan Herbal Remedies Sold Here!”—but a few have stickers vouching support for trainers. I see a ton of Gary Oak’s, and names I’m not familiar with.  
  
But I count three “TRIED AND TRUE” posters displayed proudly in small stores. I can’t help but beam. Had she noticed these when she came earlier this morning? Did other people recognize her and Britt walking these streets? Had that been why she’d left so early?  
  
“Maybe people will know who we are,” Hyde breathes.  
  
They might have recognized me if I weren’t hidden in Hyde’s hair, but plenty of people must use Exeggutor competitively. “Keep an eye out.”  
  
The street signs aren't any help either—Viridian has always been considered “too small” a city for Celadon-style street signs. Without any money, we can’t afford a paper map, and without a map, we'll be left wandering the streets for hours and probably miss True and Britt. “There has to be some other way to find the gym,” I mutter.  
  
“Well then we should ask someone!” Hyde trills. “Do you know anyone who might know?”  
  
I never came to Viridian to explore. The only times I’d crossed Route One from Pallet Town had been to help pick up orders from—  
  
“Hang a right, Hyde!”  
  
It doesn’t take us long at all to find it. The blue roof of Viridian’s Pokémon Mart is a greater sight than I’d imagined it to be; seeing it is like a weight being lifted from my chest. I grip tighter onto Hyde’s grass-hair as he charges forward, startling passerby. He comes to a halt just before the sliding doors, which glide open for us.  
  
“There’s a lot of stuff in there,” Hyde whispers, and walks in. Chilly air conditioning blasts in our faces. By now, the one or two patrons in the Mart have noticed our presence outside the doors; the woman at the counter quickly scoops up two heavy hardbacks and slips past us, while the lean-shouldered man in the corner simply lowers his wide-rimmed hat and moves to the next aisle.  
  
“Don’t touch anything,” I whisper, and land on the cool tile in front of him.  
  
“You’re no fun,” Hyde grumbles. “Can I at least look around?”  
  
But the question is interrupted by a loud “LOOK WHO IT IS!” I only have a few seconds to see huge brown shoes rushing toward us before I am flying.  
  
Not flying. Picked up and crushed against a barrel chest as something—some _one_ —whoops and hollers in my ear, “My favorite little customer’s come back home! I didn’t realize you were with that huge tree, y’must’ve been hiding in the leaves!”  
  
Have I cracked a rib? No, there’s no stabbing pain. Just a little breathlessness as I pull as far backward as I can to look at the man’s face. Relief floods me when I recognize John the store manager smiling down at me. He’s no longer the bald-headed face I’d been expecting, and sports a ruggedly-trimmed beard that runs all around his cheeks and jaw, but the twinkle in his dark eyes is just the same.  
  
“Shit—yeah, I’m back. An’ only just suffocating.”  
  
“Suffo—oh. Shit, sorry,” he laughs, and loosens his grip. “Jake’ll be sad he missed getting’ t’see ya. You stayin’ here long?”  
  
“I need directions to the gym,” I say, because if I don’t get right to the point John will keep us here for hours. “I woke up this morning and True was gone.”  
  
Something falls to the floor. John and I turn our heads to the capped man, who flashes a nervously apologetic smile before bending down.  
  
“Yeah, been gettin’ a lot of folks asking where the gym is. She have her interview thing, then?”  
  
“Interview?”  
  
He rolls his eyes with a long, dramatic sigh. “Yeah, League just started requestin’ those 'bout two months ago. Guess they figured out that folks needed to ‘be informed of the consequences of the Victory Run,’” he sneers. “Which is shit if ya ask me, people already know how dangerous travellin’ can be.”  
  
Only then do I remember the snippet of conversation I’d heard in Cinnabar—that trainers with seven badges would have to sit down for an interview before being allowed to battle the Viridian Gym. “Do you know where she’d be?” I press.  
  
Hyde chirps in from the Potions section, two aisles down from the entrance. “We need to make sure she’s alright without us.”  
  
John’s laughter shakes the two of us. “Off the top of my head, no, but I can fish out a map—”  
  
“It’s up in the northern part of town,” the man with the hat says, startling us all. The man braces his narrow shoulders and sets his mouth in a hard line. “Right up where Old Man Tajiri has his coffee hut, and then a few houses down. It isn’t too far away from the gym.”  
  
John nods. “Sounds about right. Never go up to see that geezer though, not since he tried blockin’ a Silph shipment a few years ago.” He sighs. “Guess he had a point, after all this Rocket tamperin’.”  
  
“No one could have known,” the man says, standing rod-straight. He comes to the front desk and places two Max Repels in front of the register, dusting off his dark jacket. “Not unless you were there.”  
  
“Hurt our sales well enough, for damn sure. Those herbalists down the way’ve had some good business,” John grumbles, as he moves to the back counter. He’s still muttering under his breath about “damn out-of-town hippies” as he rings up the items. “Fifteen-hundred.”  
  
Money is exchanged and the items are placed in a paper bag. The man bows his head and then turns to me and Hyde. It wasn't his hat obscuring his eyes, but a slim pair of dark sunglasses. His jaw, boxy and stubbled, tenses as he speaks. “I have a bit of time before I need to get home, if you wanted a guide.”  
  
There is no such thing as a well-intentioned eavesdropper, not even in a smallish city like Viridian. I narrow my eyes. “Why—”  
  
But it’s Hyde who charges through the aisles—somehow not toppling anything over—and falls in step with the stranger. “Yes! We’ll find her a lot faster this way. Right, Casey?”  
  
The hairs along my spine are bristling, and my cheeks feel heavy and full with electricity. I swallow it down and grumble, “Sure. Thanks.”  
  
“Just stay close to me.”  
  
It isn’t hard to follow his instructions; for every street we turn down we only see a group of people. Most loiter in front of shops and nibble on pastries—middle-aged women, mostly, with a few long-faced men reading the morning paper. There’s hardly a kid in sight; now that the school year has started, they’re probably all in classes.  
  
“It takes a special sort of Pokémon to come into the city without their trainer,” the man says, and adjusts his paper bag in a white-knuckle grip. His hands are huge. “Most of the ones I know don’t even get out of their balls very often.”  
  
“Oh, our trainer’s really nice,” Hyde says. “And super good at battling! I mean, I wouldn’t know, I’m kind of new at the competitive thing, but Casey—”  
  
“I’m not much,” I say, and brush warningly against Hyde’s heel.  
  
“You shouldn’t sell yourself so short,” the man says. “You prefer to hit hard and fast, right? That’s how most Pikachu fight.”  
  
I prefer to not fight at all. That doesn’t stop me from looking up at him in surprise. “Met a lot of Pikachu?”  
  
“I've watched plenty of the Battle Network,” the man says. His shoulders have dropped, but his hands haven’t relaxed. “You see many more Raichu than you do Pikachu, but they tend to have similar fighting styles.”  
  
“Ooh! And what about Exeggutor?” Hyde asks.  
  
The man chuckles. “They can be pretty sturdy, if you train them right. Most trainers usually like using them to subdue their opponents before going in for the offense, and use health-regeneration attacks. Sleep Powder or Hypnosis, Mega Drain or Dream Eater. Not as much raw power as Alakazam or even Hypno, but they have their uses.”  
  
“And you know all this just from watching TV?” I ask.  
  
Maybe if I had been riding on Hyde, I could see his face. But from down on the ground, I can only see see him shrug. “Mostly, yes.”  
  
“So,” Hyde interrupts, “let's say I was up against something super scary and dangerous, like a Scyther...”  
  
And so it goes, with Hyde peppering the stranger with battling questions. He often pauses for a few moments, but then delivers articulate answers: an Exeggutor should put the Scyther to sleep and start eating its dreams; a Charizard should know how to heat up the air currents to help its flight. Be careful when battling Nidoking, because they can learn almost anything. “I knew a Nidoking who would fry its water-type opponents with Thunder before Thrashing. Deadly combination,” he says, and shakes his head.  
  
Hyde only stops when our mysterious guide gestures us past a rickety old coffee stand manned by a heavy-browed old man. Just minutes later, we pull up in front of a two-story building. The brightly-decorated garden and trimmed windows give the place a residential feel, as does the cobblestone path that winds for the front door. Something moves in front of the mirror—a dark blue head, a flash of cannon, a flare of red hair. I move forward, magnetically drawn, and feel my stomach unclench.  
  
“That has to be her!” Hyde says. “Oh, we never would have found this place without your help. Thank you so much!”  
  
The smile that stretches awkwardly over his face is familiar. I narrow my eyes. “We'll be fine now that we know she's here.”  
  
“Casey, shh. You can be so rude,” Hyde grumbles, before brightening. “I bet our trainer would love to say thanks—”  
  
“Oh, it’s fine,” the man says, and takes a step backward. He lifts his head up just enough for me to catch a flash of red hair against his temple. “Consider it a random act of kindness.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Good luck against the gym,” he says, and turns to walk away.  
  
“Hyde? Casey?”  
  
I hadn't heard the door open. True comes toward us, beaming and shouldering the yellow backpack. Britt is right behind her, wearing a satisfied smirk. “Behold, interviewee extraordinaire. Or so I was told, I wasn't able to walk in with her.”  
  
I don't even care. I jump into True's arms with a cry; she laughs and cradles me to her chest. “You weren't there when I woke up,” she says, “so I figured you were still with... training,” True says, and winks.  
  
“We fell asleep,” I say. “I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry.”  
  
“It's okay,” True says. “And it all worked out. I came here to get cleared by the League. If we can win against the gym tomorrow, we'll be set to make the Victory Run.”  
  
I ignore Britt's surprised “Training? What the fuck?” and shake my head.  
  
“You should have waited for me,” I mutter, and sneak a peek behind us. The stranger has slowed his pace.  
  
“How'd you two find us anyway?” Britt asks.  
  
“We went looking for the gym,” Hyde says. “Except we couldn't find it, so we talked to some of Casey's friends, and then a strange man told us he knew where to find you and—hey, I forgot to get his name!”  
  
Six pairs of eyes obviously don’t miss my silent pleas to  _shut up,_  because he hollers so loudly that roosting Pidgey fly up in alarm. The hatted man is only feet away from turning down the road, out of sight. He freezes, but doesn't turn toward us.  
  
“My trainer wants to say thank you, like I said she would!” Hyde yells. “But I don't know your name!”  
  
True takes a tentative step forward, with me still in her arms. “Um. Thank you!” she cries out.  
  
The man turns slowly toward us, his hands in his pockets. He makes eye contact with us—with  _True_ , who starts to tremble. Though a fair distance has separated us at this point, I can see him press his lips together in a fine line, tense his stubbled jaw.  
  
A low growl rumbles in Britt's throat as she takes a step forward. “You going to say something back?”  
  
“Don't,” True whimpers. “Let him go.”  
  
The stranger gives no reply, just adjusts his hat before ducking past the corner and out of sight.  
  
True's heart throbs against her chest, and immediately I know.  
  
“Strategy,” she whispers. Her voice is shaking. “Talk me through tomorrow.”  
  
We end up sitting in the dirt, right in the middle of the road, with Hyde as our personal shade-maker. He’s asking panicked questions. Britt must shut him up with a glare. I just focus on pressing myself against her shoulder. True buries her nose in my neck, but just by the angle of her head I can tell she’s focusing on Britt. I sneak a peek toward the Blastoise, who seems the perfect picture of calm.  
  
I am thankful, for the first time in a long time, that I’m not the only one here.  
  
“The League gal didn’t say much about the typing, just that they’d bring in some League officials since, well, the old gym leader was a traitorous asshole—”  
  
“Don’t,” I warn, as True’s breath hitches.  
  
“Okay,” Britt says, and recollects herself. “Probably won’t be any of the types you’ve fought. That’s rock, water, electric, grass, poison, fire, psychic. Probably won’t be any of the Elite Four types, either, but they could do what Johto does with their asshole dragons and double dip. So that’s potential ice, fighting, ghost, dragon. You have counters for all of those, right?”  
  
Her heart rate is starting to come down. She nods vigorously.  
  
“So that’s Jackson, Clara, maybe Wilkes, definitely me. I’ll bet you anything they won’t rock the boat and just go with ground types though. And between me and coconut-head here, we won’t have any trouble fighting those. Some Surfs, some Hypnosis and Psychics—we worked on those, Hyde, remember?”  
  
It takes Hyde a moment to process this, but when he does he nods enthusiastically.  
  
“Worst case scenario we’ll just blast through with raw power. And that’s me and Jackson. And as long as we get a good rest tonight, tomorrow morning’ll be a piece of cake—”  
  
I am crushed between chests as True lunges forward and hugs Britt. The physical contact must take Britt by surprise, because even through her hard belly I can feel her freeze. Arms wrap around shoulders. After a few crushing moments, True pulls away and pets the clump of fur down against my forehead. “Thank you,” she says quietly.  
  
“We’ve all been training hard,” I say. “You’re gonna do this. All of us are going to be right there with you tomorrow. No matter what happens.”  
  
Britt and Hyde help us get True back onto her feet. She sways a little before regaining her balance. “I just… I have to pretend he’s not there. Right? And things will be fine.”  
  
Hyde clears his throats. “So, uh. Is this the part where I can ask, uh, what just happened?”  
  
Britt and I groan as one. But True shakes her head with a shaky sigh and looks up at the towering Hyde. “You, uh… that was my dad.”  
  
Hyde doesn’t even have time to ask questions before I slam my tail against True’s ball belt and recall him. “So. Home?”  
  
“Pokémon Center,” True whispers.  
  
The main lab has their healing machine, but the Center is the closest place with a free phone. Though I can feel Britt’s curious eyes staring holes in my back, she doesn’t ask. Instead we silently make our way through the city and into the red-roofed building. There’s only a short line, so we only have to wait a few minutes for True to submit Hyde and Britt for a quick heal. The nurse gives us a thirty minute window and whisks them away.  
  
“You do what you have to,” I tell her.  
  
True nods and walks to the video phone. She dials a string of numbers with a trembling hand, steadying her breathing. I watch her from her lap, brushing myself against her arms.  
  
“Thank you,” she mouths, just as the video screen flares to life. Inza Retune’s face floods the screen with her hair wrapped in a snowy white towel. It takes her a moment to recognize us on the other end, and when she does it’s with a surprised, “True! What’re you doing in Viridian?”  
  
“I made my gym appointment,” True says cautiously. “I’m battling tomorrow.”  
  
“And you’re—oh! That’s exciting,” Inza says, with a faked enthusiasm. “Did you want us—want  _me_ , I suppose—”  
  
“Dad isn’t the gym leader, is he?”  
  
The question surprises all three of us; I peer up from her lap as Inza clears her throat. “No. No, sweetheart, he had his license suspended. He can't own or train Pokémon anymore.”  
  
So that's what the Max Repels were for: to drive away the wild Pokémon of Route One so he could get back to Pallet Town.  
  
“Remember when I said that he traded information for an early release? One of the conditions was that he would have to work under the League, so they could keep an eye on him. I suppose it’s because they wanted to make sure he wouldn’t slip away and rejoin… anyway. He works as a part-time secretary for the Viridian Gym.” Inza’s eyes narrow. “Why do you ask?”  
  
It takes a tremendous effort for True to get the words out. She does, hesitantly. “I… saw him. Today.”  
  
I hate the way her eyes soften with something akin to hope. “Did you… were you able to talk to him?”  
  
She could have opened her mouth and begun a dialogue. She  _had_ , before realizing our tour guide had been her father. After that, no dice. True shakes her head. “But I wanted… to make sure I didn’t have to fight against him.”  
  
“I think he works again tomorrow.” Inza rubs a long-fingered hand down the side of her face. “I bet if you just talked to the League, they could reschedule. Or I could talk to your father tonight, he could—”  
  
“Don’t tell him I called,” True immediately says. “Just… I’ll think about it. Okay?”  
  
Pain flares in Inza’s eyes. “I won’t. And I’m sorry. You know, if you’re finished with your battle around noon, I bet we could still have our weekly lunch. Would you be okay with that?”  
  
“My appointment’s at eleven,” True says. She is silent for a good half-minute before sighing. “Spiced pasta?”  
  
“You bet,” Inza smiles. “You just give me a call before you come over, alright? Just you and me.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I love you. I know I haven’t made a good case for that the past few months, but I do.”  
  
“I love you, too,” True breathes.  
  
A lock turns. Inza whips her head to the right of the screen, sighs, and meets us again. “That’s him. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby,” she says, before the screen fades to black.  
  
True leans back into the chair and takes a shuddering breath. I replace the receiver and lean against her chest and look into her watery eyes. “I’m proud of you.”  
  
She stifles a laugh. “You’re just saying that.”  
  
“I do not just say things,” I say. “You’ve known me long enough to know that.”  
  
“Even if he isn’t the gym leader,” True whimpers. “Even if he’s there, I don’t… I don’t know. And calling to reschedule an appointment, that’s just like sneaking in with Gramma Tess, it’s manipulating things so that I feel better, or I’m more prepared, or—”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
She laughs bitterly, shakes her head.  
  
“Tell me why you want to fight tomorrow,” I say.  
  
“We've been training for so long, and so hard.  _You've_  been training. This whole month has been nothing but drilling and practicing, and now it's like, we have to do something about it, or it's not going to mean anything. Because otherwise it's like, why did we try so hard to begin with? You know?”  
  
“I know. But what else?”  
  
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Part of me  _wants_  him to be there, so he can… so he can see what he missed out on. You know? That he picked wrong when he chose Team Rocket, he didn't have to do everything he did, because despite all the—all the tears, and the attacks, I’m... I might be worth something.”  
  
It isn’t until I stretch to stroke her wet cheek that she realizes she’s crying. I make her look at me anyway. “You have always been worth something, True Fargone. You will always  _be_  worth something. No matter what me, or your father, or anyone else has to say about that. You get to decide. That’s what being a trainer’s all about. And you,” I say, and brush away new tears, “are an amazing trainer.”  
  
Her eyes are so glassy, so warm, so round with surprise. “I’m amazing?” she whispers.  
  
I look deep into them, fight to keep myself from drowning in them. “I wouldn't fight if I didn't have faith in you.”  
  
She cries, but there's a smile on her face. We stay there, me wrapped in her arms and her nose in my shoulder, until she finally pushes out of the chair. I settle on her shoulder and we stand off in the corner, breathing as one, until the nurse calls True’s name. “Your Pokémon are fighting fit, miss,” she says, and hands over the two familiar balls.  
  
True cradles them in her hands, thanks the nurse, and walks just a little ways away. “Do you really think I can do this?” she breathes.  
  
“I really do,” I tell her. “And if you want to reschedule and wait a little, you can.”  
  
She reattaches the balls to her belt. She curls her hands—smaller versions of her father’s white-knuckled hands—and sighs. “No. I can't wait anymore. I can't run away.”  
  
“You aren't running alone,” I tell her, and gesture to the Poké Balls in her hands.  
  
Her answering smile is wide, watery, proud. “That's the only reason I can do this,” she says, and walks out of the Pokémon Center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a note about Hyde's gender fluidity in an art post I made a few months ago, but I've been wanting to incorporate it into the main run for some time, and this seemed like the best fit. Since the gender mechanic wasn’t properly introduced into the main games until GSC, I’ve had fun playing with gender—it is highly unlikely that, were I playing a FRLG hack of Yellow, I would have gotten two female starters in Minka and Britt without obsessive soft resetting. Since the main games do recognize genderless Pokemon with “mechanical” species (Voltorb and Magnemite) and most legendaries, I found it only fitting to stretch things a bit farther with a genderfluid cast member.
> 
> Gender identification works mostly the same as it does in our world. But for most multi-headed Pokemon species, genderfluid, genderless, and non-binary identities are the norm—even in cases where evolution forces the absorption of heads/personalities, such as Exeggutor and Hydreigon, individuals will often fluctuate between different genders, or not identify with a gender at all! Like everything in life, each case is different.
> 
> On the next episode of Wonderwall: the final gym!


	75. Chapter Sixty-Nine

“We’ve been standing here for a long time,” Jackson murmurs.  
  
The Viridian Gym is a boxy, subtle building, tucked away from the main roads. The tall, intimidating trees cast most of the area in shadow. If the lawn wasn’t so well-kept, if the walls hadn’t been treated with a fresh coat of gray paint, if the sign above the huge steel door didn’t shine in the artificial lights, it would have been easy to assume that this was an abandoned project, that the real gym was somewhere more frequently populated.  
  
“Give her a minute,” I reply.  
  
Everyone has been on edge, but True has yet to say a single word. She just looks between me and Jackson and Britt, adjusts her shirt, ties and lets down and reties her hair. We’d spent an hour in the bathroom just breathing before Britt, having had enough, had urged us to hit Route One. “Maybe she just needs to get out of here,” she had said.  
  
If it’s helped her nerves, it’s done nothing for her speech. Even now, True stares right at the polished sign, fingers itching back to the short ponytail Hyde had tied for her.  
  
“You have the others,“ Britt says. “You have your plan.“  
  
She doesn’t look convinced, but breathes a sigh anyway. Jackson simply places his head on True’s other shoulder, huffs a burst of flame that winds to ashes before us.  
  
“We’re right here with you,“ I tell her, and brush against her cheek.  
  
True’s eyes screw shut. They open, glistening, and narrow under her furrowed brow. She opens the door.  
  
There is no open lobby, only a small, dimly lit hallway. The heavy door slams shut behind us, taking most of the light with it. Jackson’s tail burns brightly enough to better illuminate the short path from the door to the huge oak desk; we can see shadows of ourselves in the polished wood floor. If this is an intimidation tactic left behind by Giovanni, it’s working.  
  
The man bowed behind the desk doesn’t flinch at the sound—as far as I can tell, he only moves to twist the lamp beside him to shine more light on his keyboard. Without looking up, he says, “This gym is only taking battlers hoping to earn their eighth badge.”  
  
Britt places a heavy paw on True’s free shoulder; Jackson murmurs a word of encouragement in her ear.  
  
I want her to open her mouth. I want her to tell him that this is the reason she’s here, that she’s qualified, that she’s  _made it_. But there is only silence. It’s Jackson who answers him with a steady, “We have them.”  
  
Pen scratches on paper; shoes shuffle against the floor. True’s cheek is pressed against my side as she takes a few tentative steps to the desk.  
  
“I’ll need to do a badge check, and then take your ID and name,“ the man says. He looks up.  
  
Without his hat and the dark shades, I can actually see him. His red hair, a few shades lighter than True’s, is cropped on the sides and shaggy up top. His face is boxy, with a strong jaw coated in fine stubble. The light catches his wire-tipped glasses, so I can’t see the color of his eyes. I don’t need to; I see them every day in another face.  
  
It’s only when the two of them are together, with a desk and years between them, that I start catching subtler similarities. Even when sitting, Richard Fargone carries himself with hints of an achingly familiar hesitance, one that doesn’t match his tall frame or rope-muscled arms. I know just from looking, though his brow has lifted in surprise, that he furrows it the way True does. His hands are larger but they have the same shape as hers; they do not tremble when True shakily sets down her trainer’s license and her opened badge case. She looks past the desk, past the man, up to a darkened corner. A gallery, to watch the match? But who would be here?  
  
Movement catches my eye: one of his hands has from the desk, but when Jackson growls it stops in midair. I don’t know what he would have done if Britt, Jackson and I hadn’t been there. Try to stroke her cheek? Try to say something profound, something that might start to close the gap between them? Richard’s eyes tighten as he brings his hand back down, collecting the ID. He holds it with a hesitant reverence. “One of the… the League officers will battle you with an assembled team.”  
  
“I know that part,” she whispers, and it sounds like music.  
  
“Right,” he says, and looks down at his papers. “Right. Peg should be here in just a few minutes.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“True?”  
  
Finally her eyes come up to meet his. She says nothing.  
  
Richard’s hand is steady when he places the ID back on the counter. “You almost forgot this.”  
  
Each step echoes as we ascend the small staircase to the gallery; Britt and Jackson are heavy weights behind us, careful to place their huge feet securely on the steps. We press our noses against the gleaming glass down to the battlefield below. It reminds me of the gym in Vermilion: no special adornments, no mazes or pools or rock formations. Just earthy ground and a few chalk lines.  
  
“You just finished the hardest part of this battle,“ Britt says beside us. “The rest is easy.”  
  
True wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. I lean against True and say nothing.  
  
The time goes quickly for me. We all flinch at the sound of heels clicking against the staircase. The brown-haired woman who meets us, heavyset in a well-fitted green pantsuit, extends her hand. “You must be True Fargone.”  
  
I have to fight to not look downstairs, at the secretary who tilts his head toward us.  
  
True takes the woman’s hand and shakes it once. “And you’re... Peg?”  
  
“Peg Hartfield,“ the woman confirms. “I’m the temporary gym leader for the Viridian Gym. If you’re ready, we can get this thing started.”  
  
Somehow the walk down seems longer, even with Peg keeping a brisk pace in front of us. True keeps her head down, focused on not tripping; I keep my eyes focused right on Richard, who looks past me toward his daughter. The iron doors open with a swipe of Peg’s hand, crackling open like a giant fighting consciousness. Light pours from the overheads, bathing the stadium in white light.  
  
The second we hit the dirt arena, True’s breathing evens. Her fists loosen, if only slightly, as Peg Hartfield makes her way to the opposite side of the battleground. She already has an Ultra ball curled in her hand by the time the safety barriers have been turned on. I press my paw against it experimentally, and only remove it when I feel absolutely no give.  
  
“Are you ready, challenger?” Peg calls. “Standard League rules, four-on-four match. Show me what you’ve got.”  
  
The ball flies and bursts open in a flash of white. The light fades to reveal three furry heads staring up at us. I’ve only seen Diglett, making messes in the yards surrounding the laboratory. This is new territory for me.  
  
“Flamethrower!” True cries.  
  
“Sand Attack, Wells.”  
  
Faster than I can blink, the Dugtrio has flung forward a wave of sand. Jackson erupts into the air without so much as a second thought and belches a red-hot stream of fire. The blast strikes Wells on their heads—just as I hear their low keening, Jackson calls off the attack. The Dugtrio dive underground, only to erupt at Peg’s feet.  
  
She doesn’t seem to be surprised by this, and even smiles when she recalls the Dugtrio. “Interesting to pitch a fire-type against me,” Peg says. “Let’s see how you handle Kenzie!”  
  
When the ball flings forward and spills its occupant, I catch my breath. I hear True and Jackson do the same.  
  
The Nidoqueen who materializes from the second blast of light is tall, powerfully built. Her ears are huge on her head, but they do not take away from the long spikes on her back, the muscled slip of her tail that beats the ground experimentally. She takes one look at Jackson, smiles, and rolls her shoulders.  
  
Jackson, who had been so fluid and alive just moments ago, has frozen. The sudden change has obviously caught Peg’s attention, because she pauses before commanding, “Body Slam.”  
  
There is no such hesitation from Kenzie. The Nidoqueen charges head first—fifty, forty, twenty feet are cleared in a matter of moments. At the last ten, she uses her tail to jump up into the air, limbs splayed as she crashes down.  
  
It catches a defenseless Jackson square on his belly. They both fall in a cloud of dust. When it dissipates, Kenzie is still standing. Jackson is not—bright-eyed and moaning, with his paws clenched over his belly, he is nothing close to the powerful monster he had introduced himself as on the battlefield.  
  
“Are you okay?” True shouts. But it’s like he doesn’t hear her. Kenzie snorts and scrapes the ground with her left foot, her huge ears flapping in the air.  
  
True’s shoulder has gone stiff under my paws. I grip them for balance. “She’s not Kerri!” I shout. Can Jackson even hear me? “You can beat this one, it’s okay!”  
  
Peg folds her arms. “Another Body Slam.”  
  
The only warning I get is True’s grunt of absolution. In one fluid motion, Jackson is absorbed and a Safari Ball is thrown. Hyde materializes with one foot up, solidifies with shock on all six of his faces. “What is—where are we?”  
  
There is no surprise in True’s face, only a steely determination. “Gym battle. You think you’re ready?”  
  
There is no real “front end” to a Pokémon with heads that face in every direction. The one facing us, though, stares surprised for five long seconds before it winks. “Tell me what to do!”  
  
True takes one look at Peg, who is smiling, before nodding. “Alright. Hypnosis!”  
  
“Paw up!”  
  
It’s a good strategy. Though I’m sure the protective barrier will shield us from the attack, I focus more on the Nidoqueen who has blocked her eyes with her huge paws. They stay like that for moments, until Hyde gives up with a frustrated groan.  
  
“Earthquake!” Peg yells. The follow-through is effortless: Kenzie is liquid, textbook perfect, as she strikes her paws against the ground. The arena moans and shakes so badly that I can feel tremors of it rippling through True’s body. Hyde fighting so hard to stay balanced that his huge toes leave score marks on the dirt floor.  
  
True’s teeth clatter even as she yells, “Psychic, now!”  
  
Again Hyde’s eyes erupt in green. Kenzie is lifted into the air and the tremors immediately subside. She flails, helpless, twenty feet above the air. I turn to Britt, who is staring transfixed at the arc of the Nidoqueen; to True, who has closed her eyes and is mouthing words under her breath. Apologies? Prayer? I don’t care to know, because I can’t look at a helpless Nidoqueen without picturing the Nidorina who should have lived to see this moment.  
  
“Let her go,” True calls. Hyde lets her drop with a thundering crash. We watch, uneasy, as Peg murmurs a question to her—and then finally, with a shake of her head, is recalled.  
  
Peg takes a long look at the Poké Ball before nodding her head. “What was her name?“ she asks.  
  
True clears her throat, closes her eyes. “Kerri. On the SS Anne.“  
  
This satisfies the Gym Leader, though her frown doesn’t fade when she bows. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Peg says. But the show must go on. Peg flings another Poké Ball skyward, and it erupts onto a lean, tawny figure. The long-limbed Persian blinks her glassy eyes at us before slipping into a familiar battle stance. I hear Britt growl beside us.  
  
“This isn’t officially a ground-type gym,” Peg says, and smiles. “Will you be keeping out your Exeggutor?”  
  
True takes a long, deep breath. “Come back, Hyde.”  
  
Hyde has only a moment to whine before being absorbed in the red light. Peg watches in interest as True throws out another Poké Ball. My breath catches in my throat as Wilkes materializes in a flash of white. The Haunter himself seems surprised as he turns to face the two of us, a silent question in his glowing eyes.  
  
“Can you handle this?” True asks solemnly.  
  
“Is this redemption?”  
  
Her eyes flicker to the right, toward the balcony, toward her father. “It’s what you need it to be.”  
  
Wilkes is free to look upward; he must see something that satisfies him, because the dark ghost only chuckles. “As you wish.”  
  
Peg has pursed her lips. “Delilah, Double Team!“  
  
Right before our eyes, the Persian splits in two—in four—in eight. Sixteen gleaming eyes and eight Cheshire smiles flash at us before scrambling into chaos. There is no organized movement to any of the Persian copies: one lolls around on the dirt field, one jumps up and down for seemingly no reason at all, two tumble around each other.  
  
“Wilkes,“ True murmurs slowly, “try Hypnosis.”  
  
It's one thing to know that Hyde's attack won't miss, that the force field will protect me from a stray eye; it is another entirely to put myself in a position to completely trust Wilkes. I close my eyes and listen, to be safe. There are no feet or feathers that can betray his movement; I can’t tell if the breathing I hear is Wilkes’s, or mine, or True’s. But then I hear it: the thin whisper of wind as something swoops across the field; there are yowls that drown into contented purrs, bodies falling onto the ground, the hiss of dust settling.  
  
When I open my eyes there are eight Persian snoozing on the battlefield, with Wilkes hovering above them like some malevolent god. Peg’s brow has furrowed and her lips have pursed. She doesn’t look up at us, just at the flickering copies as they vanish one by one.  
  
I hear True gulp. “Dream Eater.”  
  
Only Wilkes’s hands descend to the slumbering Persian. His long fingers only tap Delilah’s jeweled forehead, and suddenly there is a glowing ball of green energy right in the palm of Wilkes’s right hand. He brings the glowing ball to his mouth, stares at it for a moment, before gulping it down. The Persian shudders and moans softly but is otherwise limp, helpless in this careful robbing.  
  
 _“I don’t need to sleep,”_  he’d once told me. No wonder, with tactics like this.  
  
“That’s enough,” Peg sighs, and recalls her Persian. “I forgot how much I hate Haunter.”  
  
The retort goes unanswered. Wilkes is silent as he hovers in front of True. The two stare intently at each other; True is the first to break the contact, with a steady nod. “You did well.”  
  
“You are one step closer to your goal,” he says, before reaching down to recall himself.  
  
There will be time to mull over his behavior later, as Peg reminds us. “This is my last Pokémon,” she calls out, and twirls an Ultra Ball between her short fingers. “Who will you send out next?“  
  
There’s no need for the question. Britt walks calmly onto the battlefield, her head high and fists curled. True’s hands are steady at her sides as she stands tall, firm, with a flash of confidence in her eyes.  
  
Peg chuckles, and throws the ball high in the air.  
  
The light erupts into a huge, towering beast, all blunt shapes and sharp points. I’ve seen plenty of Rhydon in competitive tournaments: they’re stocky, powerfully offensive berserkers who love spamming Earthquake. This Rhydon glares down at us with bright ruby eyes. Her skin is duller than other Rhydon I’ve seen, like she’s been underground for a very long time. Something in the balcony must catch her eye, because she suddenly lifts her head skyward and bellows a loud, furious cry.  
  
I can’t help but turn to the upper floor. Richard’s face has gone white; his futile hand presses against the glass.  
  
“Sed!” Peg cries sharply. “Ignore the balcony, you have a challenger.”  
  
There is something unnerving in the heavy stare that Sed fixes on us, in the way her body seems perpetually bowed forward. We meet glances for just a moment, but it is enough to take my breath away. She is not so easily swayed, and instead turns to Britt with a growl.  
  
“One good blow,” True murmurs, before throwing her hand forward. “Surf, Britt!”  
  
Peg smiles. “Ride it out.”  
  
Shining blue water erupts from Britt’s cannons, riding up in a frothing wave. The Rhydon looks eerily composed as Britt swipes her paws down, sending the water towards its finishing strike—  
  
But Sed, eyes masked in blue, has raised her own paws. She shoots forward, past the wave that explodes against Peg’s protective wall, and slams her rugged fist straight into Britt’s jaw. I don’t hear a crack, but that could easily be masked by the settling water that turns the ground to mush.  
  
Britt stumbles back—just once, but more than I would have expected. Her only response is to spit out a gob of reddish spit before aiming her cannon straight at Sed’s face. The Rhydon grabs it and pulls the cannon and the Blastoise down, slams her to the ground with a grunted, “Stay down.”  
  
“Make me,” Britt snarls, and slams her paw into the dirt. Water erupts like a geyser, enveloping the Rhydon in a frothing cyclone. Britt pushes herself up and shoves Sed, water and all, down to the ground. The Rhydon crashes with a roar and a splash, her skin dark, the drill-like horn on her nose whirring sporadically. Slowly, horribly, the drilling stops, and the Rhydon lays her head in the water with a groan.  
  
Britt lifts herself to her full height and pulls her cannons back into her shell before turning to me and True, her face full of smug satisfaction. “Told you. Nothing to worry about.“  
  
The sharp blare of the buzzer overhead is trivial, unprovoking. The second the safeties fall, True flings forward and crashes into Britt. The two lock arms and laugh, oblivious to the smatterings of applause that sing from the balcony. They might be distracted, but I’m not. I look straight up—our audience on the balcony has grown. League employees jab each other’s sides with elbows and point to True and Britt, and even to Peg as she begins to approach with the traditional words and an Earth Badge.  
  
My eyes are only for Richard Fargone. His mouth is set in a firm line, but even from down here I can see his eyes shine. His eyes are all for his daughter, who has not once turned to face him since the pre-battle registration. I let loose the tiniest spark of electricity—it seems to amuse some of the other officials, who are now pointing fingers at me. It hasn’t distracted him.  
  
“...to present you, True Fargone,” Peg is saying, which is enough to distract me. By the time I’ve jumped up onto True’s shoulder, the shiny Earth Badge has found a home in her sweating palm. Peg’s smile is contagious as she regards us. “It’s clear you have great control of your Pokémon. I’m excited to see how you’ll fare against the Elite Four.”  
  
“Thank you,” True says. “For everything.”  
  
“My pleasure.” She sneaks a peek up at the balcony, then sighs. “I’m sure several of my co-workers will be wanting a few words with you, but I have a feeling you’re not up for a mob. I know a few secret exits you can take, if you want to make a quick getaway.”  
  
True does not look behind her. With Britt’s heavy and reassuring paw on her other shoulder, she nods. “A quick getaway is just what I need.”  
  
It will be easier to walk without Britt; True recalls her with another low thanks before following Peg through another set of iron doors. The hallway we walk down is much more brightly lit than the entrance way—there are doors just stone’s throws away from each other.  
  
“That Rhydon you battled with,” True asks. “She was yelling at…”  
  
Peg nods. “She was used by Richard Fargone periodically, yes. For the past few years she’s acted as security down in the tunnel underneath Saffron City, but since the Rocket base in Saffron fell and Giovanni… well, I decided to take her on.”  
  
That’s how we knew her. We’d  _met_  her, lifetimes ago. True and I share a silent glance. Was there any way we could have known?  
  
“I don’t think he knew that she was under my custody,” Peg says, pulling us back into the present. “Looks like I’ll have to deal with that fallout the next time I see him.”  
  
True doesn’t ask any other questions, and Peg doesn’t come digging for conversation to pass the time. Instead she leads us to the very end of the hallway and opens the door into a small clearing. True jumps out of the building so quickly that I almost lose my balance. Clara materializes with just a press of True’s finger and looks up at me with inquisitive eyes.  
  
“Piece of cake,” I tell her, and she caws victoriously.  
  
“With a team like that, you should be in good shape for Victory Road,” Peg says. “Do us proud.”  
  
True nods in reply. Peg waves us off before disappearing back into the building. True’s grip is tight on me as we make our quick ascent, leveling off at just a few hundred feet. We must attract stares from the Viridian locals, but we’re simply gone too quickly to leave that much of an impact. As we clear the city limits, Clara begins to play—she dives so low that I can feel the grass bow in our wake, pulls up with only a few wingbeats and choice piercing cries.  
  
True, who has worn such a ragged expression all day, laughs with every dip and lift.  
  
It’s a straight shot back to Pallet on Clara’s back—an hour’s journey takes five minutes at most. True has to guide Clara away from the laboratory and into the northeastern part of town, where several houses are clustered together. Clara lands with just a questioning warble just outside the Fargone residence. True scratches underneath her chin and murmurs something low and encouraging as I scramble onto her shoulder. The Fearow disappears in a flash of red, and we are alone on the cobblestone path that leads to the two-story residence. There’s nothing particularly noteworthy about the stout building: white-painted walls, a flower box in front of the kitchen window blooming with red and blue flowers, a vegetable garden off to the side. Someone—Inza, most likely—has drawn the pale green curtains to hide the kitchen from view. It doesn’t stop the smell of the spicy sauce from seeping through the air.  
  
Her cheeks are still flushed from the quick ride over. There's a brightness in her eyes that doesn't match the weary set of her mouth. “Here we go,” True murmurs, and pushes past the kissing gate.  
  
The door is unlocked. True knocks a one-two combo before stepping inside the house. I haven’t been here enough to know whether or not much has changed—I remember the white couch with the red-and-orange blanket thrown over the middle, and I remember the bookcase-wall stuffed with novels and memorabilia. The photos on the mantle might have been rearranged; the walls, an orange-yellow, might have been repainted. True seems at ease here, though she tenses when she sees the pair of muddy men’s boots on the hinge side of the door.  
  
“That you, baby?” Inza pokes her head out from the kitchen, a sauced spoon between her fingers. “How’d it go?”  
  
“It was great,” True says. She slides her backpack off her shoulder and sets it beside the fireplace. “We won.”  
  
“I knew you would. Lunch is just about ready, come on and sit down.”  
  
It’s an easy jump from True’s shoulder to the carpeted floor—I land without so much as a whisper to follow True into the autumn-colored kitchen. True and Inza move with a practiced grace around each other, pouring pasta out of the colander and grabbing the pitcher of lemonade without so much as brushing shoulders. I make things simple by settling on the floor underneath the small dark table; True leans down with a grateful glance, and pulls an apple from the fridge to hand down to me. Inza sits on one side of the table and meets True on the other. There is a third chair, identical to the first two, that sits between them.  
  
I am reminded immediately of that awful dinner in Celadon, with Grandma Tess and True on opposite sides of a long table. Here, toes and dishes come within half-inches of each other. Here, there is nowhere to hide. For a long while, there’s only the munching of food and a few bits of easy conversation—today’s weather, highlights from the gym battle. I can hear True’s smile in her words; it tastes almost as sweet as the juice dribbling down from the apple.  
  
Inza clears her throat. “So what exactly does this mean, earning all the badges? You go through Victory Road.”  
  
True has to swallow before answering; she delays the moment with a swig of lemonade. “If we make it that far, we fight the Elite Four and the Champion.”  
  
“That sounds exciting,” Inza says. “And then… after that, what happens?”  
  
“Well… I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about maybe exploring a few more places in Kanto. We never did have to go through Rock Tunnel, I hear there are some beautiful—”  
  
“You’ll be staying here though?” Inza must have been a ballerina in her youth, with the way her toes are stoically pointed toward the checkered floor. “At least, until you have to leave?”  
  
True’s feet, trained to climb mountains and step over uncertain terrain, are bouncing at my side. “At the laboratory, since it’s easier to train there. And I’ll probably head to the Pokémon Center in Viridian the night before, just so I have a head start.”  
  
“I see.” Inza's feet flatten only to push her body up out of the chair. Plates collect. “Well if you change your mind, your bedroom's clean. I found a whole bunch of old clothes under your bed—”  
  
“Mom?”  
  
“…And remember that old picture book you had, with all the different legendary Pokémon?” Pink rubber engulfs Inza’s hands, slaps on skin. “I was looking through it the other day and found an old photo of the three of us, when your father tried fishing.”  
  
I may have watched her grow up, I may be privy to some of her deepest thoughts, but there is still so much I don't know about True's life away from me. I know from the set of her hands that this is a stressful, familiar conversation, and from the flickering sadness in her eyes I know how she's feeling. But this unfolding of Inza Retune is a new one, a spectacle I cannot turn away from.  
  
The sink is running, but dishes aren’t being cleaned. True leans in her chair toward her mother, feet rocking. I peek out from underneath the table. Inza has braced herself against the counter, back toward us. “Your father keeps telling me that everyone leaves home, but… I guess I never really thought about what that meant until recently.”  
  
True slips out of her chair and hesitantly takes a step forward. “That doesn’t mean I… that  _we_ ,” she adds with a sigh, “won’t ever come back.”  
  
“I worry,” Inza says, and lifts her head. “Even when I thought he was off doing League business, I worried about him going off on his own. And I worried about you. It’s been so long since I’ve had the both of you, and now I do, and… I won’t be able to keep you here forever, I know that. But even if we all haven’t been together, it’s been nice having you both so close.”  
  
True has bowed her head and gripped her arms. “I didn’t mean for you to worry.”  
  
“I know,” Inza says. She lifts her hand to her face, sniffles, then turns to us with watery eyes. “And I may not understand everything you’re doing, but I am proud of you. Not everyone can go around the region…beating up people?”  
  
True laughs. “Close enough.”  
  
Watching them come together in a hug is mesmerizing, and I can’t look away. They do not fit together seamlessly, but hold each other close. It feels like a moment I shouldn’t intrude on, shouldn’t even be here to witness. There’s an intensity when they pull apart and lock eyes; Inza’s small smile does nothing to assuage it. “Well. Your father will probably be home in a little bit, so I guess I’ll say goodbye. Will I see you again before you leave?”  
  
“They open the pass this Monday,” True says. “I might stop by on Sunday before heading up to Viridian.”  
  
“I’ll look forward to it. Don’t work too hard, okay? You need the break.”  
  
I am at True’s heels as she heads to the door—and I bump right into them when she stops suddenly. Her hand is on the brass doorknob, steady fingers pressing against the cool metal.  
  
I have not spoken the entire time we've been here, but now I turn to True. “Everything okay?”  
  
She bites her lip. Tries to unfold from herself. Her eyes flicker to the left, back to the kitchen and her mother and the third chair. “What time does Dad get home?”  
  
Plates rattle in the sink. Inza steps back out from the kitchen with her gloved hands laced together. “I’d say an hour or so?”  
  
There are battles that are won with brute force, with pairing elemental attacks against their opposites and hopes to cut through enemy fire. I’ve been training to fight those battles, have gotten better at them than I’d ever thought. But there are other, subtler battles, ones that make themselves known in weary eyes and hesitant brows. When True looks down at me, I do only what I can: press my paw against her ankle, meet her gaze, and nod.  
  
True’s hand releases the knob. “What’s for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	76. Chapter Seventy

An hour is a very long time to wait.  
  
We’ve waited worse; the physical exams after gym battles had been torturous, minutes passing in hours, and there had been nothing to do but sit in the chairs and people-watch and wait for a nurse to call us up to deliver the news. The team had waited for True to gather herself back together after Silph. True had waited at my bedside more than she should have. An hour is an intense training period in the woods, before a break. An hour is a trip from here to the Viridian Pokémon Center on foot. An hour is nothing.  
  
We wait it in her bedroom, which Inza has meticulously dusted and cleaned. There is not one imperfection: no clothes hanging over the chair, no socks lost under the bedside table, no books scattered over her desk. Her bed has been tucked, smoothed over, spritzed with some vanilla-scented thing that does not provide the comfort it should, her pillows have been fluffed, the stuffed Eevee she’d had since she was a tiny baby has been blow-dried and placed between the bedframe and the pale purple wall. The bookshelf hasn’t been rearranged, but it’s clear that someone else has touched the tomes of legendary tales, photo albums, textbooks, and other knick-knacks.  
  
It is too clean. A stranger’s clean. And so, rather than spending the hour waiting on the bed or at the desk, we wait it pressed against the locked door.  
  
True holds me between her crossed legs, bowed over with her hands on her cheeks. She’s staring out the window, where leaves are tumbling in the wind against a strikingly blue sky. She hasn’t spoken since she’d excused the two of us up to this bedroom; Inza had simply nodded her head, offered a few soft words of encouragement, before letting us go on our way.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.  
  
She takes a moment to answer. “Remembering things.” She doesn’t go into more detail, and I don’t ask her to. “I was surprised by his voice. It’s higher than I thought it was.”  
  
I lean against her arm, wordless.  
  
“He’s done all these awful things,” she murmurs. “I want to hate him for it. I did. But after everything that’s happened, I don’t… I don’t want to hate him anymore.”  
  
There is no easy way to do any of this. How do you speak to a man who is both killer and kin? “You’re taking the first step,” I say, and ignore the tightening knot in the pit of my belly. “This is what you’re gonna make it. And if it doesn’t work out… you tried.”  
  
She brushes her hand down my back, picking up static along the way. It fizzles against her leg when she pats it down; she doesn’t even wince. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing, doing this.”  
  
“You’re the only one who knows that.” Fuck knows I don’t.  
  
She closes her eyes and leans her head back—the collision of bone on wood echoes briefly in the silence. I lean forward and concentrate on the wind brushing against the walls outside, the leftover smell of pasta and vegetables from the kitchen and on True’s breath.   
  
“I need to face him on my own,” she murmurs.  
  
“Your mother’s staying downstairs, isn’t she?”  
  
She gives me a pointed look, and I say, “Oh.”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t want you here, but I feel like this is something… that’s just me and him. It’s what I need.”  
  
There are a million reasons to protest against this. Many of them are the same reasons I had given against going into Silph. There was no faceless organization to defeat, no great building to seize back; here, there is only a room with a door, and two people with years and heartbreak between them.  
  
But the same steeliness is there in her watery eyes, the adrenaline-fueled flash of determination so at odds with the rest of her, curled up at the foot of her bedroom door. For a moment I am reminded far too much of my brother, who would look back at me when I hesitantly asked him to slow down, stop a moment, consider the danger.  
  
 _Y’get nowhere by waiting,_ he’d tell me. _It’s always worth it,_ he’d say, even when he’d come back with a bleeding lip and one less tooth.  
  
This is not a backyard scuffle, a match of glowing cheeks against high-pressure blasts, fists against teeth. This is something more dangerous for its subtlety, for its potential for disaster. The question is, do I trust her enough to know her limits?  
  
I know the answer before I finish the thought. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”  
  
“No,” she says. She lifts her head and I swear she is not True, but a baby-faced boy from years ago. “Go back to the lab. Tell the professor that we’re going for the Victory Run.”  
  
That knot in my belly tightens again, threatens to leave me breathless. I’m not big enough to take her Poké Balls or her backpack with me down to the lab, and even if I was I don’t think she’d ask me to. As I move to open the bedroom window she unfurls, arms stretched above her like she’s about to take flight. It is the last peek of her I’m allowed to sneak before carefully jumping down to the lawn below.  
  
I stay hidden in the bushes until I see Richard Fargone walk down the road, tucked into his dark jacket. There’s a can of Repel still in his hand—a way to deter the wildlife, since he isn’t allowed Pokémon of his own? The sharp, acidic smell of it, not even the spray itself but the few wisps that hiss out of the can, stings my nose; I have to hold my breath as he approaches the front step. He stops just short of it, fixes his jacket and clears his throat, before walking through the door.  
  
I don’t wait to hear them talk, to hear him take the steps up to True’s bedroom. The second the door shuts, I run.  
  
There is an uncomfortable chill in air, a sign that October really has arrived. I flinch away from the chilly shade, instinctively seeking sunlight up the winding dirt road. There’s only a faint melody on the wind, snippets of song that I recognize as a new song that’s been dominating the radio. One of the lab workers blasts their music player on while she studies—the Pidgey must have picked it up from her.  
  
I would have called her “us” before this journey. Now I don’t know who I am in that lab anymore.  
  
I don’t head for the bedroom, not when there is a True agonizing, alone, in another bedroom in a home just a mile from here. Instead I make my way up to the tiny alcove I had claimed as _my_ home, when this place still felt like one, and feel for the tiny instrument I had stashed away: my guitar, a present from the aides years ago, fit to a tiny Pokémon like myself.  
  
I haven’t used it in months; why would I, when Al’s had been there for the playing? There’s a thin layer of dust that is easily wiped away, revealing the dark brown wood. I hold it in my paws; it’s definitely smaller than Al’s, far less heavy and maybe even a little less sturdy. There are grooves from where I had pushed my fingers too tightly against the strings, scuffing on the bottom where my leg had brushed against the wood. I brush my fingers along the strings, flinch as a few high notes ring out—it is a different sound than my brother’s guitar, one I’m not used to anymore.  
  
But I learn again. I can move with this instrument, and tap my feet against the ground. There is a weightlessness that unties that belly knot, that has me actually _dancing_ in that tiny hidden space that isn’t really all that tiny and definitely isn’t hidden. If I am aware of the aides passing through and making encouraging remarks, it is subconsciously; if I notice the pang in my belly or the pressure in my cheeks, it is a fleeting notice, one that is drowned out by my strumming and humming and whimpering alongside the melody.  
  
When I stop, breathless and satisfied, I hear a voice say, “I really have missed that.” And when I peer down the side who else I see but Professor Oak, staring up at me with a twinkle in his eyes and a cup of hot coffee in his hands. “I thought someone had left the radio on until I came out. Imagine my surprise when I heard you, playing just like the old times.”  
More pressure in my cheeks. I slip into the strap and glare down at him. “Shouldn’t you be working on something?”  
  
“I should be, but I’m due for a break. I thought it might be nice to enjoy what warm sunshine we have left. Would you like to join me?”  
  
There might be a smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye, but I know just in the set of his shoulders that this is not a request. I make a show of adjusting my guitar onto my back before making a few calculated jumps onto the floor. We are silent as we make our way outside to the back lawn, where we had had dinner all those weeks ago. Someone has set out a rocking chair just a tiny distance away from the picnic tables; Oak eases himself into it with a satisfied grunt, lightly rocking on the backs of his heels to set up a steady pace. I stand at his side, wiggling my toes in the yellowing grass. “Maybe it’ll rain soon,” I say.  
  
“Maybe it will,” Oak says, looking up at the cloudless field of blue. “Is True around here? I thought you had your battle at the Gym today?”  
  
“We beat it. True’s at home. In her bedroom.” I lean up to look at him. “With her father.”  
  
Surprise flares his bushy eyebrows, even as he takes a sip of his coffee. “She didn’t want you there with her?”  
  
Playing my guitar for the first time in a long time had been a stopper; now it’s come loose, and shame is rolling over me. “She told me to come back here.”  
  
“That’s good.” Sip. “It means our jobs are done.”  
  
Electricity surges into my cheeks, and Oak’s mouth opens—but this is not the conversation we had had at the beginning, when I had forced my power down. This time I let the blast flow through me, yards away from the both of us, where it dissipates into a ground and leaves only an inky blotch behind. He doesn't even flinch, but nods to himself, like my display is the result of an experiment he'd been hoping for.  
  
The knot tightens. Anger flares. “What jobs?”  
  
“To get her to the point where she was ready to confront her father,” he says with a shrug. “Of course, I don’t know what’s going to come out of that meeting. She’s the only one who’ll be able to tell us that. But even a year ago she wouldn’t have been able to speak with him.”  
  
“A year ago,” I hiss, “he would have been in _jail_.”  
  
“It is still a victory,” Oak says. He glances over to me. “You aren’t satisfied?”  
  
Arceus knows I should be. True has grown comfortable enough with herself, sure of herself, to face down the source of her demons. Without help. Maybe even without too much of a breakdown. But it’s just like being put in the Poké Ball during the travel from Celadon to Fuchsia—I’m not there where she might need me.  
  
“You were always very good with the schoolchildren,” the Professor says. “Very attentive to their needs, very willing to listen. But when I watched the two of you come together, long after she graduated from that tiny school and came to find this lab a second home, there was a special connection between you and True, one that went beyond just being a part-time companion. That bond has changed since you two left on your journey.”  
  
“Gotten stronger,” I growl.  
  
“Changed,” Oak repeats.  
  
“How the hell do you know? You haven't been there!”  
  
There is a long pause where we just stare at each other, him with his calm eyes and me with my sparking cheeks. He puts his coffee cup down on the grass between us and looks directly at me. “Do you still feel like you’re only a chaperone making sure she returns home from school safely?”  
  
Hadn’t that been the condition—that I stick with True until she had a team surrounding her, willing to do what it took to protect her as long as she needed it? It had been Kerri who had convinced me (okay, strong-armed me) to stay at least until Vermilion. And after the SS Anne I had stayed out of some bizarre sense of duty, of paranoia; if one disaster had happened, who was to say there wouldn’t be more?  
  
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t—”  
  
“You wouldn't have been able to stay here, listening for news of her. You wouldn't have been happy.”  
  
At some point, I had stopped entertaining the idea of leaving. Even after Tanza and Chris, after Silph and Minka. At some point, “I will not leave you” had become “I _cannot_ leave you.”  
  
That wasn’t being a chaperone. That was being something else.  
  
“It’s being a Pokémon partner,” Oak says, when it’s become clear I won’t say anything. He smiles. “It isn’t about battling all the time. That’s certainly an aspect of it, as I’m sure you’ve come to realize. But the greatest partnerships, they come from the strong bond between trainer and Pokémon. You two have it.”  
  
  
What is the difference between a partner and a guardian? Being on equal footing? Understanding the relationship? And how the hell did Oak know this, when he hasn’t been around us—how the hell had True and I not?  
  
What if we had?  
  
“Did you know that when you told me to leave if I couldn’t go into Victory Road with her?”  
  
“That might not have been the best approach,” he admits, and rubs his fingers against his weathered temple. “But it made you think about your place with her, didn’t it?”  
  
I wouldn’t have been able to stay here. Not after everything. My ears heat up. “I hate you.”  
  
“That will pass,” Oak chuckles. He picks up his cup and grunts his way out of the rocking chair; when his back pops, he shivers with delight. “I’ve been waiting for that. Congratulate True for me. And if you happen to see Gary, send him to my office, will you?”  
  
Gary hasn’t been seen in Pallet Town for days; he has to know that. Maybe he doesn't care. I nod. “Any message you want me to give him?”  
  
“Just wave him up,” he says, and enters the building.  
  
It’s silent out here without him. It’s only when five minutes pass that I realize that I should have asked him for the time. There’s a perfectly functional clock in the kitchen, but what if I miss her? Instead I wait on the yard, fingers tugging uselessly at strings that wince out notes. I wait until the sky starts to streak with gold and pink, until the chill in the air begins to feel less than refreshing.  
  
She’d wanted to stay for dinner. Surely they would have had it by now? And she’d know I was here, and she’d know to call if she needed me. It’s not that far of a run from here to her house, if I start now—  
  
And then, right then, I see her.  
  
She is alone, with her hands in her pockets and her head bowed low. I am on the alert, and slip out of my guitar to edge nervously toward her. Her shoulders are tense and she does not meet my eye, not until I’m almost underneath her. She isn’t trembling, but there’s too much nervous energy crackling in the air for her to be anything resembling calm.  
  
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I tell her.  
  
She nods her head, doesn’t meet me in the eye.  
  
So I take her to the patch of grass where my guitar is waiting, shining caramel in the setting light. She settles down on the ground, one side pressed into the grass, one hand on her cheek. Her bangs fall into her eyes, but she makes no motion to brush them away. I think she’s watching me, though, when I transition from a few stray chords to her favorite songs. They’re all light harmonies meant to accompany a dew-eyed ingénue singer bowed around a microphone or an instrument. I don’t sing the words.  
  
“He made it all about him,” she whispers, in a raspy voice that sounds rubbed raw from misuse.  
  
I do not stop strumming, but look up at her. “Did he apologize?”  
  
“He said he was sorry. It wasn't enough.”  
  
It's probably all he had. It doesn't make me hate him any less.  
  
“I left without dinner. They let me walk right out. I walked around Route One for a long time, and then I came out here.” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand, and even in the night I can see the snot dribble down. “I couldn't even look at him. We talked through the door.” Her laughter is tinny, wildly out of place. “And all of that, it wasn't even worth it.”  
  
I'm not enough to collect her when she dissolves, not like this. So I stretch down and tap a ball on her belt with the end of my tail. I am only aware of warm bleeding into our bodies, of trying to catch this mess of a girl with my tiny hands, as Jackson’s tail flame illuminates us, a star imploding.   
  


* * *

  
I wake up on something leathery and warm.  
  
It takes me a moment to realize this and open my eyes. White solidifies into a familiar bed and table, a bare-bones room. Orange, green, blue; Jackson, True, and I are curled tight on the floor. True’s snoring softly. Jackson is staring right at me with his huge eyes.  
  
“It started raining, and she wouldn't wake up,” he whispers. “The bed wasn't big enough for all of us, but the floor is.”  
  
  
Someone has tossed back the curtains to reveal dark gray skies and rain falling in sheets and low hisses. “Where’re the others?” I whisper back.  
  
“Britt’s outside. Everyone else’re in their balls.” He gestures to the table shoved awkwardly into the corner: True’s belt is there, laid over my guitar. “She helped get us in here, but then she left.”  
  
I wiggle away from her side to come closer to Jackson. The question in my throat dies when I see that his eyes are dull and bloodshot. “Couldn’t sleep?”   
  
He shakes his head. “The rain kept me awake.”  
  
If I close my eyes, the rain could easily be the waves rocking the SS Anne. “You could’ve gone in your ball.”  
  
I’m not surprised when he shakes his head again. “She needed me.”  
  
I know how to calm True down: sit with her, stay silent, bury myself in her and give her my body to hold. I don’t know what would give comfort to Jackson, other than a punching bag. If I can remember the powerful tail of the Nidoqueen, her huge ears and Kerri-like vigor, Jackson certainly can. He must. “You want to talk about it?”  
  
He looks down at the ground, where his claws are scratching the plush carpet.  
  
“We don’t have to,” I say, and settle myself in the crook of his long neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
The rain continues to fall. Any conversation that might have bubbled up between us is cut off by True's shifting against Jackson; our eyes meet, we understand the meaning of our silence. I try to close my eyes but sleep doesn't come; after a while, I stop trying. We watch over True until, after hours have passed, she begins to stir. She presses her nose against Jackson's hard belly before reluctantly opening her eyes. “S'not outside.”  
  
“Jackson brought us in here,” I tell her gently.  
  
“Mm,” she says, and extends a hand to cup Jackson's cheek. “Thank you.”  
  
“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks. “Last night you were...”  
  
“I can't talk about it right now,” she says softly. She's slept, but her eyes are unfocused and red at the corners. “I'm okay.”  
  
Why is it that I can’t believe her when she says this?  
  
She is unsteady on her feet. Jackson braces himself against her, and together we slowly make our way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Britt is already there, munching on Pokéchow and leaning against the open cabinets. Right beside her is a brown box. “This came for us yesterday while we were battling,” she says, and eats another fist-full of kibble. “Feels heavy.”  
  
True’s hands are still sluggish from sleep; it takes her a few moments to rip the tape from the box. I jump onto her shoulder and watch as she pulls the flaps open. The dark packing paper hisses as True starts unwrapping; I am very aware of Jackson’s hot breath washing over my back as he leans forward to grab a white envelope tucked in a corner.  
  
I may not be able to read the looped writing scrawled over the front, but after a few weeks of peering over True’s shoulder in the evenings I can recognize it. I grab the letter quickly and fumble with the flap; it isn’t sealed, and whispers open when I pull up. There’s a feathery smell seeping from the paper—had Preston been peering over Sherri’s shoulder as she’d written this?  
  
“It’s good material,” Britt says.  
  
I look up from the letter to see the green thing in True’s shaking hands. Mostly green—my eyes are drawn almost immediately after to the furry hood that flops over the fold. “Looks like Clara,” Jackson murmurs, and there is some similarity to the color. But I am thinking of a different collar.  
  
“We won’t know what it really looks like until you try it on,” Britt says, and looks at the Charizard. “Take him.”  
  
I hardly feel Jackson’s claws, his grip is so light. He sets me on the table as True, still wide-eyed with surprise, fumbles into the coat. I know even before she’s fully put it on that it will be a perfect fit—pinched at the sides, pockets settled along her hips. True lifts her arms and rolls her shoulders. She zips it up. “Warm,” she murmurs.  
  
I have about two seconds of warning before Britt snatches the envelope from me and hands it to True. “I think you’ll want to read this, too.”  
  
It takes True a moment to recognize the envelope; when she does, her cheeks flush. She reaches forward and takes the letter away from Britt. Jackson turns to me with a furrowed brow. “I thought she had a… thing.”  
  
“Coat,” I say, as True comes to sit on the bench closest to us. “But this one’s new.”  
  
“Special, too,” Britt says, a shit-stealing grin on her face. “ _Custom made._ ”  
  
True doesn’t move when I clamber onto her shoulder; the material is nice, something coarser than the Rocket uniform. The thick collar gives easily under my weight, and the fur brushes against mine, disturbingly real.  
  
“It’s not,” she murmurs, and presses her cheek against my side. “The fur, it’s fake.”  
  
It’s so soft though, like Cassidy’s had been before evolving. I breathe a sigh of relief anyway and look down at the paper. The tiny, messy writing blurs too much for my eyes; I learned to read from street signs and books, where each and every letter was clear and distinct from the other.   
  
“She couldn’t get time off to see us off,” she says, as Britt and Jackson come to stand beside us. “They’re trying to get as much work done on costumes as they can before everyone bails for the Indigo Championship. But…”  
  
“‘With the way things are going we’ll still have to rush to make preview week,’” Britt finishes. I meet her eyes and she shrugs. “Eunice’d send me with his prescriptions and messages all the time. I had to make sure what he wrote was what he meant.”  
  
“That old guy in Vermilion?” Jackson asks.  
  
“Yeah. Want me to take over?” she asks True, who nods. Britt clears her throat. “‘Hopefully this way it’ll feel like I’m there. I know you’re going to make it. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Thinking of you. Sherri.’ That is really sappy.”  
  
“Minka would have eaten it up,” Jackson says.  
  
He’s completely right; the Venusaur would have put True through a fashion show, made her walk through the tables and strut, zip up her coat and then zip it back down, put the hood up and down. She would have smiled for the rest of the week, repeating phrases from the letter that had been especially noteworthy.  
  
True wraps her arms around herself and buries her nose into the coat collar, like she’s looking for something in the synthetic fur. “We still haven’t buried her,” she whispers, almost half to herself. “She’s still in that urn.”  
  
Britt huffs. “S’not like it’s in any danger, with that huge backpack keeping everything in place.”  
  
“Where would she even have wanted to be buried?”  
  
“I remember burning the dead Charizard in the clan,” Jackson says. “Let the wind take them into the mountains.”  
  
“She loved the beach,” True says. “There’s that strip where the trees come really close to the shore just a few miles away from here, we could make that. Or—”  
  
“Cerulean,” I say. When the other turn to me, curiosity gleaming in their eyes, I sigh. “It’s where we met her.”  
  
“She didn’t hang out with a bunch of wannabe-musicians, did she?” Britt grumbles. My surprised grunt must be enough of an answer for her. “I met them. They have a picture of her now and everything.”  
  
I don’t want to know how she knows this. I don’t dare ask.  
  
“A lot happened there,” True murmurs. She cradles the side of Jackson’s head. “What do you think, does Cerulean sound good?”  
  
“We’re doing this for us, not her,” he says, and averts his eyes. “She wouldn’t care.”  
  
“We have time,” True says. “Like Casey said. Right now, let’s just… let’s focus on what we have to do first, and then go from there. Maybe just take a break for today.”  
  
I wait for a complaint, a grunt, anything. But Jackson just nods his head and Britt says, “I'll grab the rest of the team,” and without another word the two of them walk out of the kitchen toward the bedroom.  
  
It's hard to say that True deflates in her coat; she brings it tighter to her, and it looks like there's less of her somehow. I sit right in front of her and push her bangs from her eyes. “You know I'm there for you, right? Whatever it takes, whatever it is?”  
  
She opens up the slightest bit to let me in; I fold into her chest. “Okay.”  
  
We will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of this came out the way I had originally planned. There was going to be a dinner, and then it was going to be just a conversation. Every time I sat down to write any of those scenes out, I had to stop after a few hundred words because it was hitting too close to home. I won't be going into any details but when I say that Wonderwall is a deeply personal project for me, it's personal in huge part because of my father. I lost him traumatically Thanksgiving 2012 and ever since, autumns have been shitty. I thought I'd be able to push through depression and deliver the meeting that I had been building up to, but I couldn't, and for that I apologize. Thankfully I was able to figure out a solution, which is the above, that does not come at the cost of my well-being. I hope it's satisfactory.
> 
> Sherri's gift was commissioned by a dear friend of mine, as part of a complete outfit change; I have a reference that I'll be posting up later when all the components have been introduced in the story.
> 
> I'm not sure when the next updates will be. My dog's fallen extremely ill, to the point that we're discussing euthanasia to end his suffering; I'm only three weeks into school and feel like I'm drowning; and it's autumn. My plan is to have a few more chapters up by the year's end, but I'm not making promises as far as updates anymore. They will come when they come.
> 
> Thank you all, and I'll see you next time.
> 
> For updates, extra art, and an ongoing character Q&A, please visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com


	77. Chapter Seventy-One

"Party" is too big a word for the gathering of people and food that the lab aides and staff provide for True and Gary—the only decoration is a huge banner that hangs above the doors to the kitchen, "GOOD LUCK GARY AND TRUE." But someone has hooked up speakers to the radio and Kenta has once again made his famous tofu burgers, and there's excited chatter in the air that might be enough to drown out fear.  
  
It doesn't. But they tried and they continue to try, gently probing the two trainers with questions. They sit on opposite sides of a table, cross-legged and wild-eyed, facing their inquisitors. Gary, his smirk solid like Graveller hide, answers them confidently, makes them laugh with quips of his own. True's voice shakes as she holds herself, answers only what she has to and provides nothing more. Britt, who stands at her side like a gargoyle, and Kenta, who acts as translator, engage them.  
  
Though they ask me questions, too, and I answer them, I stay mostly silent. I stand right on True's shoulder, right where she needs me. Once in a while my eyes will drift toward Gary, to Cassidy at his feet. She's smiling and bright-eyed and as happy as I've ever seen her, basking in this attention and praise. She's so engrossed that she doesn't notice me staring, and part of me is happy for it.  
  
When watches go off and signal the time, nine at night, Gary stands up fluidly with his arms raised. "I wish I could stay with you all, but this Champion-to-be needs his sleep," he says with a wink, with a practiced air. "Thank you all."  
  
True takes a deep breath and nods. "It was wonderful," she says, her voice wavering at the ends of her words. "Thank you."  
  
"The Professor sends his regards," Kenta says. "We'll be rooting for you!"  
  
For True? For Gary? For both? There's no room to ask him; any opportunity is drowned in the applause and cheers from our impromptu audience, who wish True and Gary goodnight before turning to each other.  
  
"You going to get any sleep tonight?" Britt asks.  
  
True's eyes are already ringed in dark circles from late-night study sessions of a Victory Road guidebook. She smiles. "Hopefully."  
  
"Be sure to set your alarm," she says, and recalls herself. The others had been in their balls hours before, sleeping and resting for the journey ahead.  
  
The aides make no signs of leaving, curled around each other with their gossip and predictions. True, however, is quick to follow Gary back up into the residential wing. He turns toward us, opens his mouth, and then shuts it with a shake of his head. "Never mind. See you," he says, and turns the corner.  
  
Cassidy lingers behind him, just for a moment. She blinks sympathetically. "We'll keep an ear out for you," she says, and turns the corner to follow her trainer.  
  
We wait until their footsteps stop echoing down the hall to ascend the stairs up to her temporary room. Only when we've closed and locked the door does she breathe a sigh of relief, resting her head against the hinges. There's a sharp chill to the air from leaving the window open throughout the day; music is still playing down in the yard, an up-tempo beat meant to get the blood flowing.  
  
I jump up to close the window and sigh when I hear the satisfying click. "We don't have to leave early in the morning, you know," I say, as I pull the curtains closed. "We can wait."  
  
Between forced and even breaths she says, "The sooner we're out of here, the better." She unlaces and kicks off her new brown boots, a surprise present from Mr. Pokémon in Vermilion, and tosses them beside the door. True hurries to shed the rest of her clothes and curl up under the blankets with me. I turn to look at the small pile by the door. The backpack has been stuffed with Devon-recipe healing items, with a few changes in clothes, with Minka's urn. Al's guitar is on the other side of the room, for the same reason I hadn't brought my own guitar: it will be safer here.  
  
"On a scale of one to ten," I say, "how nervous are you?"  
  
She gulps. "Nine."  
  
I close my eyes. "I—"  
  
"But I'm excited," she finishes. "Nine for that, too. I'm afraid but it's... a good afraid." She pauses, suddenly shy. "That sounds silly, doesn't it?"  
  
It's what I felt when I was training with Cassidy, when just yesterday True had taken me down to the beaches to battle some of the wild ocean Pokémon. It's a rush, a lump in your throat, a lightness in your belly, a burning in your blood. It's a huge change, fear with purpose and drive behind it. I want to say it's just adrenaline but that doesn't cover all of it.  
  
"No," I say, and push myself against the furry collar of her coat hood. "Do we still have to leave before sunrise?"  
  
"That party was really nice," she says, "but I'd rather just get moving. Once we're past the gate we can take it slow, or take a nap. But until then... yeah, we will."  
  
So we do, with no other sound than the new click-clack of the heels of True's new boots. Route One and Viridian City are dark save for glowing pairs of Rattata eyes and a few wispy streetlights. I'm on the alert, listening for footfalls or hands reaching deep in pockets for photographs, scraps of paper, anything. But there's been nothing but banners and streamers that litter the ground, a much more epic celebration for the official start of the League season. No signs of prying life.  
  
"If we can get past the gate," True whispers, "we'll be okay. We'll be fine."  
  
We're quiet, too, as we pause by a large boulder just off the winding dirt path of Route Twenty-Two. Six months of sun and wind and rain is enough to wash away Kerri's smell, but I put my nose against the smooth stone in case there's anything there. If there is anything, it's buried under other scent marks and True's still hand. I'm half expecting True to open Kerri's ball and have her guide us to the gate herself, or just sit for a moment and reminisce about how far we've come. Instead there's an emptiness, a breathtaking "what could have been" that we try our best to ignore.  
  
We stay only as long as we can afford, and then we turn to the Tohjo Mountains and walk again, newly somber. Our feet disturb the dew that clings to the blades of grass; I burrow myself deeper into the warm collar of True's new coat. "Do you ever wonder what's over there?" I ask.  
  
True's eyes follow mine to the pointed peaks, already turning white with snow. She pushes her hands into her pockets, where the team's Poké Balls are kept now. "In Johto? I don't know."  
  
"Think they're all health nuts like the media says?"  
  
"They have reason to be, with Silph." She turns back east, back to the boulder we'd left behind a mile ago. "I heard on the news that Devon is helping with their medicine now.  _Our_  medicine," she murmurs.  
  
I think of the healing supplies in our bag and force myself not to shudder. "It's good for us."  
  
Far off in the distance we hear long bellowing cries and sharp piercing calls, the sounds of the local wilds who are finally waking. The trees sway with a crisp breeze that sends me even deeper into True's shoulder; wordlessly she gathers me to her chest and zips up her jacket, and immediately I am flooded with warmth.  
  
By the time the squat, stony Reception Gate comes into view, the sky has lightened to a dusty blue and the clouds have begun to roll in. True has had her badge case in her side pocket all this way, when the squat, steely gray building that houses the Reception Gate comes into view, she pulls it out and grips it in one shaking hand. The giant silver doors to the building have been propped open; we step into a plain lobby. The only notable features are the gates on the other walls: unlike the door leading to Route Twenty-Two, every door is firmly shut. Route Twenty-Six and Johto to our left; Route Twenty-Eight and Mt. Silver straight ahead; and our destination, Route Twenty-Three and Victory Road.  
  
A man in a dark blue uniform stands rigidly in the center of the entrance, looking at us with his hands firmly crossed behind his back. We wait for him to speak, to even move, but after long moments of nothing True begins to take another step forward. She pauses, though, maybe thinks better of it, and instead presents the opened badge case.   
  
"ID too," the man says in a gruff voice, and pulls out a scanner out of nowhere.  
  
True takes a moment, fumbling for the small wallet. The tiny picture ID is immediately seized by the guard who looks it over, sniffs it, even licks the corner, before scanning it. Whatever he sees in the readout must satisfy him, because he hands the card back and steps aside with a blunt, "Proceed."  
  
True does not breathe until we've stepped into Route Twenty-Three; by the time we're able to drink in the scenery—tons of green little sky—the door has slammed behind us. She sighs in shaky relief and rubs a hand down her face. "I'm so glad we won't have to do that again."  
  
There are many trees, but no birdsong; and where there aren't trees, there are are huge stone statues. The closest one, just on the other side of a small slope, is a giant Rhydon frozen in a backbreaking roar. I only have to struggle for a moment before True unzips her jacket, and jump down to the ground to the stone plaque. "They call Route Twenty-Three the Memorial Way," I say, more for myself. "All of the statues are fallen Pokémon who fell in battles. Can you read the plaque?"  
  
True has to lean down onto the ground to read it. "'The unnamed partner Pokémon of Kanta, who helped establish the Kanto League and helped to construct Victory Road as a safe and final test against what would become the Elite Four.' Looks like he died in battle against the organization's first challenger."  
  
Is there no name on the plaque because he hadn't had one, or because it had been lost to time? When I ask True this, she shakes her head. "I don't remember," she murmurs. "We'll have to look it up."  
  
We don't read the plaques on every statue we pass, but it's hard to miss the stone figures themselves, white and gray against the dark brown trunks of the trees. Most of the statues I recognize as important figures in Kanto and Johto history, exceptional battlers and tacticians, an equal mix of humans and Pokémon. They seem to move in chronological order, hundreds of years of history in beautifully crafted rock.  
  
"It's too bad they don't let the general public in here," True says, and brushes her fingers against the plaque of Ivan the Round. "It's one thing to hear about the stories, but to see their statues..."  
  
"They're here so we remember what's at stake if we lose," I say.  
  
"Or if we win."  
  
It would be easier to fly through the trees and straight to the entrance of the Victory Road itself, but we wander down the beaten dirt path, casting an occasional glance to the stony figures who watch us pass. True's fingers brush the pocket where the others rest in their balls, but she meets my eye. I shake my head. For this part of the journey, until we can't go any further, it would be just the two of us silently walking.  
  
But by the time the forest starts to dissipate and a huge lake comes into view, we've satisfied ourselves in our solitude. Britt's name flashes in the late morning sun when True tosses her Poke Ball up, and her cannons gleam silver when she materializes from the white light. She takes one good look around, huffs, and turns to us. "Have you just not been battling, or have you not needed me?"  
  
"We're alone," True says. "I think we might have gotten here before everyone else."  
  
Britt turns behind us and stares into the dark forest for a moment, and after a moment I follow her. This is the first day the gates are open; these woods should be swarming with trainers rushing to Victory Road. But we hadn't heard anything, just the hustle and bustle of wilds that had seemed worlds away.  
  
"The sooner we get across the lake, the sooner we can get to the Plateau," I say.  
  
Britt hesitates, but then nods. "Good plan. Hop on."  
  
The water Pokémon who live in the lake skirt away from the gigantic Britt; the only bits of them that we even see are the flashing of Goldeen tails and a Poliwhirl's gloved hands. I find myself yearning for the pull and smell of the ocean, but Britt seems content here. True sits facing the forest, her hands brushing against Britt's wet shell. "Once we're in Victory Road," True says, "we'll have to all stay together. If there isn't anyone out here now, there will be later."  
  
"The goal is to just get to the Plateau," Britt says. "If I were a trainer I wouldn't waste energy on beating anyone who comes along, I'd wait for the mountain or the Elite Four to pick ‘em off."  
  
"But there'll be people who'll want to fight us," I say. "We have to be prepared."  
  
"Which strategy do you want to take?" Britt asks.  
  
True takes a moment to answer, but when she does it's with confidence. "We have to finish the Victory Run. After that, we can worry about battling."  
  
Britt nods, satisfied, and continues swimming.  
  
"I looked up all the local Pokemon we might see through Victory Road," she continues, and starts digging into her backpack. "Lots of ground- and rock-types, and there's supposed to be a huge Golbat colony. Most of the water-type Pokémon seem to be leaving us alone..."  
  
"I'd say zap ‘em if they get too close," Britt says, "but I'm not in the mood for a shock."  
  
Glaring at the back of Britt's head doesn't do much except make me feel a tiny bit better. "It'd be better than getting drowned in a mountain."  
  
"If you're so worried about a little water, don't be. We have Hyde."  
  
"No fighting," True says, and Britt and I fall silent.  
  
When we step on the other side of the lake, the sun has truly begun to rise in the sky. The mid-morning sun is a comfort after the chill of the lake, and I lean into the light as though I could brush against it. Britt just rolls her eyes and doesn't bother shaking the water off, just lets it drip into the sand and then the dirt. Gone are the trees that had blocked our view: everything here is grassland, interrupted only by the towering memorial statues and the imposing mountain entrance up ahead.  
  
True stands beside me, her hands on her hips, and sighs. "Okay. Let's take a break and have some breakfast."  
  
We make shelter under the massive wings of Lithgoe the Pidgeot, who had been the ace of a flying-type Elite Four member some thirty years ago. We all have to lie on our bellies to fit under the stone bird. Wilkes hovers silently above us as we eat, and watches for any possible dangers. His hands are laced together.  
  
"This kinda reminds me of the Safari Zone," Hyde says. "Well, maybe not all these statues everywhere, and they probably don't have those carts around... but big and empty."  
  
"Perhaps you should be our guide," Wilkes says.  
  
"I got lost at home all the time!" Hyde laughs. "But that was probably because I couldn't see past all the grass. Maybe now I'll be tall enough to see over the grass without anyone's help, that'll be nice."  
  
"Evolution has been good to you," says the Haunter. "You'll be a boon to us."  
  
"Explosive!"  
  
"He didn't say 'boom,'" Jackson mumbles.  
  
I sigh, long and hard. Clara must meet my rolling eyes, because she catches mine and shakes her head as if to say, "Well, they're  _our_  idiots," and I can't help but laugh.  
  
"If we're all done being morons," Britt says, "let's hit the road again."  
  
"Can I stay out of my ball?" Jackson asks. "My wings are cramping and I need to be ready for anything."   
  
True's smile meets her dark-ringed eyes this time, and she laughs. "Anyone who wants to come gets to."  
  
We clean up quickly and say goodbye to Lithgoe, who watches us walk away from his sharp talons and waving crest, and walk together. The journey is much louder now, with Hyde commenting on patterns in the grass made by Clara's beating wings, and Jackson demanding we stop at the statue of the Raticate who looks up at us with beady eyes and a terrible, laughing grin. Britt reads the plaques of the statues we stop at, and we learn of Gren the First Settler, Maia the Rapidash, Khan the Golem. I stay on True's shoulder, silent, and she walks on, equally silent, and the others follow in moments.  
  
But then we climb to the top of the hill, and I see them, and I stop breathing.  
  
The other statues had, for the most part, been placed on their own; humans and their partner Pokéon might have leaned toward each other, or been placed toward each other, but the majority were silent stone sentries. The two cast-iron statues who greet us at the top stare at each other, one tall and intimidating, one fierce and familiar.  
  
I am not aware of my dropping to the ground until the sand finds itself in the spaces between my toes and my paws twinge. I can only just register Jackson's curious inquiry as I step up to the statue of the Raichu on the right. He's been suspended off the ground by a stone pillar, so that he and the Arcanine across from him meet each other as equals. His fists are curled and he's leaning forward, as though he's about to dash off this platform, as though he's about to live again.  
  
"'Goliath the Arcanine,'" I hear Britt read, "'the partner of Champion Frances Byrnne.'"  
  
I have to lean back to read Al's plaque.  _Immigrated from the Sinnoh region with Champion Chris Mancon._  
  
"'In the fierce Kanto Championship battle of 900 AS...'"  
  
 _...faced off against Goliath the Arcanine in the final round, who flew into a frenzy that ultimately lead to the death..._  
  
"'...the immediate termination of Byrnne as Kanto Champion, the inauguration of Chris Mancon...'"  
  
 _...and increased awareness of battle safety in official tournaments._  
  
There's a moment of silence where no one really says anything. Britt finally breaks it with a sigh. "900 AS. Ten years ago."  
  
This fierce competitor with the curled fists and narrowed eyes, this was not my brother. My brother learned how to play the guitar and taught me too; my brother was an adventurer, a prankster, a warrior yes, a multifaceted person  _yes_ , and he was more than this tiny plaque had space for.  
  
For a moment I want the hand on my shoulder to be his, but it's cold and the nails dig into my skin. When I look up, fighting to keep the tears in my eyes, it is Wilkes who stares down at me, his expression gentle and deathly still. Every one of them is staring at me, gently or awkwardly or curious. Hyde is the one who walks over toward me, takes one long look at the metal likeness of my brother, and nods. "You get that look in your eyes when you focus on something really hard. Like that," he says, when he turns down to me. "It's funny."  
  
It is the exact opposite of funny. There is nothing funny about the lump in my throat or the pit in my stomach or the gaping emptiness that has long since replaced the sorrow. My body tingles as Hyde lifts me up so that I'm at eye-level with the statue. And I breathe. I touch the tip of his nose and feel only the hot slip of metal that has soaked in the sun. I don't flinch away immediately, but when I do it is with a long, tired sigh.  
  
I hear True approach but don't turn to her, not until she says, "We can stay here if—"  
  
" _Hey!_ "  
  
My eyes are too blurry to see anything but a massive purple object slam against Jackson, but I hear the scrabbling of dirt and the collision of two heavy bodies. Three or four blinks later and Jackson is slamming his flaming tail against a Nidorino's broad face. The Nidorino leans back and begins to charge again, leading with a blunt and sturdy horn, but is swarmed with pale green light and lifted off the ground. I only have to turn to see Hyde's eyes glowing.  
  
True only just seems to be registering what's going on, and looks down at her backpack. I follow her gaze down to see the fainted nibbling of a side pocket, where the training treats are. She sighs. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, well—you're the ones who fell into my trap!"  
  
"Trap of what," Britt scoffs, "ambushing mourners?"  
  
He rolls his red eyes. "Stragglers so caught up in reading the plaques that they don't watch over their bags! And I would've—"  
  
"Gotten away with it if it weren't for that meddling kid, yeah. Lucky for us." She turns her head and turns to Jackson, who is just pushing himself off the ground. "You okay?"  
  
"'M fine," the Charizard grunts. "But he's—"  
  
"Wounded," Wilkes interjects from the Nidorino's other side. "Recently."  
  
Effortlessly, silently, Hyde rotates the Nidorino around so that he faces True and I; he lifts his head challengingly as our eyes drift from his proud, narrow face, to the weeping stump of his left forearm. "That's nothing, it—it does that sometimes."  
  
"Have you always been wild?" True asks sharply.  
  
"No one dumped me here, if that's what you're asking," he snorts. "Old battle wound. I'm fine."  
  
"You are not." True slips the backpack from her shoulder and opens a zipper.  
  
"Don't we have to save our potions for the mountain?" Jackson asks.  
  
In response, True pulls out a dusty Poke Ball. The Nidorino's eyes have grown wide. True leans forward, just feet away from the Nidorino. "I can't give you a potion right now, we need them to get through Victory Road. And you need more than that, you need medical attention from an actual doctor—"  
  
"You know it isn't growing back."  
  
"And you can't get  _that_ ," she says, as if he hasn't even talked, "unless you're a trainer's Pokémon." From the corner of my eye I see Britt nod. "I can release you after, if that's what you want."  
  
"It's not worth fighting her over," Britt interjects. "You don't even have to do anything. Play nice and take freedom."  
  
The stranger's red eyes narrow, but he finally bows his head. There's a flash of white light. I only catch the beep of the Pokédex because I'm listening for it. If True notices it she doesn't show it, but stands staring at the dusty ball in her hand, her brow furrowed. "You don't usually make catches."  
  
"This felt right," she says.  
  
"He'll only slow us down," Jackson says.  
  
Clara takes a few steps away from him, shaking her head while staring at the ball in her hand. It's True who answers him, with a weary set of her mouth. "We're going to keep him in this ball, the same way we kept Hyde in his ball until I was able to take him to the Pokémon Center." True pockets the new catch in her left breast pocket. "He just needs help."  
  
"We don't need it. We're strong, and if he can't fight—"  
  
"He was able to sneak up on us fairly well," Wilkes says. "He obviously has experience with that ailment."  
  
"He's..." Jackson grasps for the word before sighing. "He's broken."  
  
"No one's broken," True says firmly, "and no one's going to fight about this anymore. We'll just have to be on the alert for any other wild Pokémon." She shoulders her backpack with a huff. "Jackson, it's going to be like he's not even here, okay?"  
  
He narrows his eyes and looks away, but says nothing more.  
  
"Do you want in your ball?"  
  
"No."  
  
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, careful to avoid the bright red burn patches on her cheeks. She turns to me. "Are you okay leaving now?"  
  
I do not look back to my brother's statue, and try my hardest to keep the hard eyes of the Arcanine out of sight. Clara's blocking most of him, her own eyes stony and unyielding as she looks to Jackson. When he finally turns to look at her with a startled, "What?" she scoffs and takes to the air.  
  
There must be something about this place that unsettles everyone. I turn my back and face the mountain, away from death. "Get me out of here."  
  


* * *

  
"I thought the challenge was to get  _through_  the mountain," Jackson mutters, "not  _to_  it."  
  
A sun doesn't have to be a summer one if it's high in the sky, even in October. Clara can only provide so much shade with her wide wings above us, and it would be wasteful to use Britt's energy to continually cool us off. The best thing we can say is that we seem to have leveled off, but even that seems like a miniscule victory.  
  
Sherri's jacket had been put away a long time ago, leaving True to sweat in a melon-colored t-shirt. She gasps after taking a long gulp of her water. "We'll stop just before going... th-through the gate, I promise. You can go in your ball—"  
  
"I'm not leaving you!" he says, and puts his arm around True's shoulders. The heat radiating from his body is unbearable, and both True flinches. Jackson pulls back just slightly. "I can take you."  
  
I'm the one who answers, with a shake of my head and a stern, "You need your strength."  
  
"Just let me—"  
  
Clara's shrill shriek above us drowns the rest of his words out. He glances up, growls something under his breath, and looks down at me. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  
I don't have the energy to figure out why Clara has hardly paid attention to us for the past few hours of hiking. I hardly have the energy to think about what cold feels like, and the relief shade will bring. "Talk to her later, okay?"  
  
"Not yet," a voice hisses.  
  
Jackson growls and Clara cries out as Wilkes appears beside us. He'd left us an hour ago to go scouting around the area. True's the only one who seems relieved to see him. "The entrance?"  
  
He points a finger northward, up the winding dirt path free of rocks. "Not even a mile away."  
  
"Good," she says, and turns the bottle to me with a sigh. I use Jackson as leverage to jump up to her shoulder and tilt it to my mouth. The water's warm and tasteless and there's nowhere near enough of it, but I take only as much as I need, save the rest for later. When Jackson refuses his share, True replaces the cap. "And did you see any trainers?"  
  
"I found discarded TM cases. There were plenty of footprints leading into Victory Road."  
  
"Weren't we supposed to be the first?" Jackson asks.  
  
"So long as we get to Indigo Plateau, it doesn't matter," I say. Having water now only makes me want more of it, but True's already slipped it into one of two free pockets on her backpack.  
  
"I did manage to go inside. There's a nice alcove where you could take shelter, if Britt or Hyde wanted to join me on watch."  
  
"You're sure you don't need any rest?" True asks. "The others went into their balls hours ago, and even Jackson and Clara just came out..."  
  
"Ghosts are different." He must see something in True's eyes, because his expression softens. "You can trust me. I will guide you, if you come."  
  
We shuffle slowly between sips of water and grunts of frustration and Wilkes's quiet words of encouragement. Jackson takes to the skies only to be avoided by Clara, who simply continues to rise above him. True is too tired to notice, and I'm too tired to tell the both of them to knock it off. We've been awake for almost eight hours now, moving all that while. "We're going to feast once we find that shelter," I say.  
  
"Foot massage first," True whimpers.  
  
"Cold stone will feel really good."  
  
" _Sleep_  is going to feel really good."  
  
The path narrows and winds straight into the gaping mouth of the tunnels. VICTORY ROAD has been carved into the stone above the entrance, with smaller words I couldn't care less to read. I don't think I could, with the sun glaring into our eyes. "Just a little farther to that cavern," Wilkes says, and glides forward.  
  
Deep in the mountain, there is a rumbling. True flinches. "That's not what I think it is...?"  
  
I feel something shivering deep in my bones. "Natural or...?"  
  
"Graveller," Wilkes murmurs. "There was a sleeping colony of them a few miles west of here. Recall Jackson and Clara, bring out Hyde."  
  
There is a firm finality to his words that, even in exhaustion, inspire action. Clara and Jackson hardly get a moment's warning before they vanish in flashes of red; in the same heartbeat Hyde appears unceremoniously, with a shake of his giant leafy fronds and surprise in his eyes. He takes one good look around before breaking out into six-fold grins. "We made it!"  
  
"Not yet. I found a safe place inside the mountain," Wilkes says. "You're here to protect us."  
  
"From the mountain?" he asks, inspecting the high opening, wide enough for a massive Snorlax to push through.  
  
"The Graveller are awake," the Haunter says. "You can put them to sleep, or damage them enough to deter them from us. I'll assist you."  
  
I narrow my eyes. "Shouldn't we stay  _away_  from angry Pokémon?"  
  
"If we make it through them, we have a perfect resting place. And there's no telling exactly where in Victory Road that shaking came from. Between Hyde and I, and you for any Golbat who might come our way, we'll be safe."  
  
True breathes a sigh and nods. "You know for  _sure_  where you're going?"  
  
"I made sure to know," Wilkes says. "Take out your flashlight."  
  
It takes True and I both to keep her weary hand steady as we turn the light on and take the first few steps into Victory Road. Water drips freely from stalagmites that curl like fangs and talons above us. The stone floors and walls have an eerie, earthy scent that immediately stiffens every hair in my body. I shouldn't be in here. We shouldn't be in here.  _Nobody_  should be in here.  
  
"Everyone, be quiet," Wilkes hisses. "And follow me."  
  
One flashlight is only so powerful and so bright; the darkness outside our one beam of light is oppressive, sits heavily on our shoulders. I am very aware of every breath we take, every step that echoes in the empty corridors. Once in a while the light will catch something shiny—candy wrappers, used TMs, even a dull gray stone. Wilkes stretches a hand toward one of the CDs and gives it to True, who puts it inside her coat pocket without even looking at it.  
  
"It's just—"  
  
Someone screams—the noise echoes violently around us. I scream, Hyde screams with all six mouths. Wilkes is screaming " _Run!_ " The ground shakes. Heavy bodies fall to the floor—not ours, we're still moving.  
  
There is a roar, and then a scream, and then a blinding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE KANTO, and I LOVE JOHTO, but MY GOD what is with getting to Victory Road? Two separate routes leading to the exact same place? And then the HUGE difference of Route 23 between the two regions? It's always been a thing that bothers me and so I decided to fix this discrepancy, because that's obviously what you do with super-long Pokemon fanfiction.
> 
> The mountains that encompass Kanto and Johto don't have an official name as far as I know, so they're just the Tohjo Mountains. Not particularly tall but VERY rocky; Mt. Silver is definitely the highest point of the range, with Mt. Moon at a distant second. Route 26 ends right about where the healing lady's cabin is in GSC/HGSS; when facing Route 23 and Victory Road, Route 28 and Mt. Silver are to the left, while Route 22 and Viridian City are to the east.
> 
> I tried to make the traveling as painless as possible, but it's a good distance to travel and there was some stuff I needed to address. The memorial statues are something I've wanted to place in the story for a long time, and were originally going to appear after Victory Road. But while making the Crap Map I noticed that there were a number of statues littered along Route 23 and, well, they found their way into this chapter instead. I think they work better here than where I originally had them. (And hey, it might even save us a chapter, and that's nice because I don't want to go up to 1.5 Order of the Pheonix's in length. ;_;
> 
> And as far as anything that happens after that... you'll find out. ;)
> 
> For updates, extra art, and an ongoing character Q&A, please visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	78. Chapter Seventy-Two

There is a blinding light.  
  
Just a solid one at first, an all-seeing eye that pierces the darkness the way the Golbat pierces the silence. We squint and stumble into it, until it becomes they and then blend into one again.  
  
Light and sound explode, mini-explosions.  
  
“Did you see any of the other—”  
  
“—quickly did you want—”  
  
“—first one through—”  
  
How had I so easily forgotten what the sun felt like?  
  
“—handle the explosion—”  
  
What natural wind felt like, crisp and raw on my face?  
  
“—lose anyone in the mountain?”  
  
What relief felt like?  
  
I can still feel the tremors rocking my bones and the ground vibrating underneath us. When I close my eyes, a break from the onslaught of light, I am not surprised to meet them again.  
  


* * *

  
Two days pass. Everything had flown by in a blur, all white walls and IVs stuck in arms and physical clearances. Someone had given True the key to our temporary home; we had somehow stumbled into it, a lavishly-decorated apartment that could comfortably fit ten Venusaur. We hadn’t paid much attention to it at first; True had fallen asleep with a  _flop_  onto the dark couch, and the rest of us had joined her fairly quickly. The morning sun reveals a pathway to a private training ground, which had earned Britt’s gasp of approval within two seconds; the afternoon gave us a pantry and kitchen stocked with any food we could possibly want, to True and Jackson’s delight.  
  
But when night falls we all gather together around the couch as the radio plays, tangled in limbs and blankets. Whoever had been here last had set the channel to a hybrid station that played popular music from Johto, all strings and bells. None of us have been bothered to move to turn it off or switch it to another channel. A woman in a whimsical voice is gossiping with a caller about the sudden appearance of a Wingull flock off the cost of Olivine.  
  
“Think the reporters have gone off?” Britt grumbles from our dog pile.  
  
There might be rules against bothering challengers for interviews, but the chance of getting that elusive scoop was apparently too great a temptation. They'd knocked furiously on the door just hours before; we'd hidden in our apartment, where they couldn't enter.  
  
“I’m sure they’re hiding behind some bushes,” True says, “and they’re out there waiting for us to go into town.”  
  
"Only 'cause of me," Jackson grumbles, who had scared them off with a particularly powerful Flamethrower. “Since you were all sleeping and Hyde wouldn’t—”  
  
Clara’s furious screech doesn’t pull my eyes away from the bent, silent figure of the Exeggutor who has claimed the far corner of the room, a houseplant compared to the vibrant and talkative Pokémon we all knew. We can only see a few of his faces, with the way he’s bowed over in silence: there is no emotion there, hasn't been since...  
  
Jackson seems to realize his mistake, because his face falls and he lowers himself against the carpeted floors. “Sorry, Hyde.”  
  
No response.  
  
If the last few days have been a blur, Victory Road is little more than a swath of darkness punctured by flashes of light: from Jackson’s Flamethrowers, from Hyde’s glowing eyes, from my Thunderbolts. Only a few things stick out in my memory—thick walls that radiated a strange and powerful heat; Jackson picking up fallen treasures along our path; the screech of Golbat who flew off only when I’d zapped them hard enough.  
  
And then there had been his purple eyes. Staring, flickering, fading.  
  
I move just before True pushes out of our huddle. We all pause, hesitant and with bated breath, as True moves to the corner of the room where Hyde has taken a vow of silence. I have never seen him this quiet; to see him motionless and silent when True comes to him, placing a hand on his rough trunk, is difficult in ways I can’t express. My breath catches as Hyde begins to lifts himself up from the question mark he had bowed into, that same mask of indifference is still fixated on each of his faces.  
  
"There wasn’t time to do this when we were in Victory Road, or when we were in the hospital,” True says gently. “But if you want to, we can mourn him now.”  
  
I'm grateful for the couch that shields most of us from view; there's only discomfort in most of our expressions, not grief. How do you mourn someone who wanted to die?  
  
For the split second I had seen Wilkes, in the flash of my thunder and Hyde’s Mega Drain, there had been no fear or sorrow in his eyes but a calm, steely acceptance as he’d been pushed into the ground and shaken out of his body. He had been the distraction that had allowed Hyde to sweep everything else away.  
  
"When he… we were talking with each other, all in our heads. And when… when the Graveller attacked, Wilkes stuck behind to make sure we could escape. He was still talking to me before..." Shifting eyes, sputtering mouths. "I saw plenty of Pokémon die in the Safari Zone. I've just never  _felt_ … you know, is all."  
  
If it hadn’t been for him, we’d all be dead. There's reason to be grateful for his sacrifice, even if it had been the final play in a game he'd roped us into. But to really miss him and his stoic silence and his sudden appearances that would startle us out of our feathers, his cryptic advice and fuck, just his hair-raising presence?  
  
“He thought it was noble, dying for us. It made him happy."  
  
I can’t even find it in myself to reprimand Jackson, who doesn't bother to hide his snort of disbelief. Apparently no one else can either. There is no question that Hyde had been closest to Wilkes out of all of us. He hadn’t been my favorite team mate. Almost losing Clara in Saffron had been horrifying, gut-clenching. Losing Wilkes… losing Wilkes was like ripping a hot blanket off in the winter: maybe missed for a few moments, but then you adjusted.  
  
"I don't think he'd mind being replaced, if it meant that we won."  
  
“We don’t even have anyone to replace him with,” Jackson says.  
  
I'm the only one with a clear view of what's going on, so I'm the only one to see True hesitate. Immediately, my heart starts rattling. "We don't though, right?"  
  
Wordlessly she pulls out another Poké Ball, unmarked with the tiny carvings that True uses to tell our balls apart. I recognize it immediately, but it takes me a few seconds to put recognition into words. "They gave him to you?"  
  
The others have started to come to attention; Jackson and Clara lift their heads as much as they're able, and find the ball in True's hand. Clara clicks her beak inquisitively, and Jackson growls low in his throat. True clears her throat and turns to face all five of us. "One of the techs talked to me before I came to get you. She was... concerned about him."  
  
"What'd she do," Britt laughs, "accuse you of Pokémon abuse?"  
  
I expect her to brush the comment off with a laugh, because it's ridiculous—True being abusive to  _anything_  is as unlikely as a Magikarp defeating a Dragonite, of the ocean drying up. But instead she dips her head with a sigh. "They were just trying to protect him—"  
  
Our hodgepodge pile collapses as Jackson, the foundation, shoots up and stands.  
  
"They don't know me like you all know me."  
  
There's a dark gleam in Britt's eyes as she, too, pushes herself off the ground. "Good to know we have idiots in charge of the system."  
  
"It's a routine procedure, and if they thought I was a Pokémon abuser we wouldn't be here right now," True says, and how the hell is she defending them right now? "She just thought it was odd that he was so much weaker than you all, in level and in general health, and he knew so many attacks that he shouldn't... if I wasn’t me—”  
  
“If you weren’t a Fargone,” Britt clarifies.  
  
She nods. “I understand why she did it, is all."  
  
If she’s bothered by it, she shows it only in the bright shine of her eyes. But there’s white-hot fury bubbling in mine, and electricity running through my skin. She might understand, and somewhere in the back of my mind I understand, but it’s  _wrong_  to see her sound this defeated. I take a deep breath and ask, as calmly as I’m able, "He didn't stick up for you?"  
  
"He hardly knows her," Britt growls, the perfect picture of calm fury. "Right now she's just a ticket to free health care, he's not indebted to her."  
  
"Says you."  
  
"Enough," True growls, and both Britt and I fall silent. "The point is that I passed, and I'm his legal trainer. So I can either release him when we're done here..." Another deep breath, furious blinking. "Or he can join the team."  
  
"No," Jackson says immediately. "We're strong enough without adding someone else into the mix."  
  
"Still sore that he scared the shit out of you?" Britt scoffs.   
  
The comment wounds; Jackson narrows his eyes and growls. "Training him means we can't train as much as we can."  
  
"You hardly train with them anyway,” Britt says, “you train with me.” She turns to True. “What did he know?”  
  
“Toxic, Double Kick, and Ice Beam,” True says quickly.  
  
“He’s worth it just for the Ice Beam," she says, as though the Nidorino is the pick of the Eevee litter. "I need time to master the TM you found in Victory Road, which means we don’t have a sure counter for that idiot with the flashy capes.”  
  
I catch Jackson’s mouth opening and jump onto the top of the couch to interject. His eyes are hot and heavy on my back. “This is all saying that he’ll want to even come with us. So maybe, instead of fighting over him like he’s a Tauros for hire, we ask him.”  
  
So we all watch, with fate out of our paws, as True releases the Nidorino. The squat purple figure eyes us all with a wary set to his mouth, his ears pinned back against his bristling back. My mouth is hardly open before True takes a step back, holding her vulnerable hands close to her chest.  
  
“Maybe we should’ve done this outside,” I hear Hyde whisper.  
  
“I’m fine right where I am,” the Nidorino says, kicking the carpet with his back leg. The giant red eyes move between everyone in the room—to Jackson and Britt puff their chests; to Clara, who tilts her head; to Hyde, who blinks awkwardly. I just stare, just a foot above him from my place on the couch. He turns his eyes to True. “There're only five of you."  
  
True nods, wordless.  
  
"Am I replacing someone?"  
  
She meets eyes with Hyde, who nods. “Yes.”  
  
He takes another look around the room. “That creepy-eyed guy.”  
  
Arceus must be smiling on me, because I'm able to bite back the surprised laugh. “Yes,” I say.  
  
“And now you’re going for the Championship.”  
  
“ _Yes,_ " Jackson growls.  
  
“And if you’re asking  _me_ , that means you don’t have any other replacements. I heard a little bit from that Poké Ball,” he says unflinchingly, as True glances down at her hand.  
  
Most Pokémon can’t, not without a lot of prior training. Any quiet surprise I feel is drowned out by my hammering heart.  
  
“Can I ask a question?” Hyde interjects.  
  
“A rock fell on my leg and I had to bite it off in order to escape,” the Nidorino says. Green floods Hyde’s faces; the purple Pokémon pays no mind. "I get asked that a lot. But there's one thing you can do, and then it won't be a problem anymore."  
  
Clara’s curious coos are just background noise; I know immediately what he’s asking for, and dive to the bag on the other side of the room. True has already moved to the sliding glass door between the apartment and the path to the training ground, the Nidorino hot on her heels. The others cast curious glances at each other before, they, too, go outside.  
  
We’d found all sorts of treasures through the mountain—items left behind, no doubt, from trainers who had passed through before us—but the smooth stone in my paw had been the one that had shocked me most. Different evolution stones give off different energies that sync with different Pokémon; it’s the only reason I’m allowed to touch and hold this Moon Stone now, and not be afraid of anything bad happening. The dull rock is cold to the touch, and I can’t help but feel as though it’s leeching the warmth right out of me. I hold it between my paws reverently, thinking about what-ifs, as I pass through the door to the rest of my team.  
  
They stand in the middle of the battlefield, moonlight bleaching out their colors. Our newest teammate, still nameless, faces me with his head held proudly, keeping most of his weight on his two back legs. I can’t help but take a glance at the useless stump of a front leg, even when he takes the stone from me and bites down, hard, until it shatters.  
  
White light blazes from him like he’s an earthbound star, a colliding comet, an exploding Graveller. It blinds me to the point of having to blink furiously, even as the light dies. Jackson's tail flame and the porch lights are enough illumination now. The Nidoking that stands before us now is broad at the shoulder, all muscular angles and thick limbs, with the tips of his pointed ears just shy of reaching Hyde's heads. He looks down to test his new front paw and grunts in approval, rolling the shoulder.  
  
“He strong enough for you now?” Britt snickers, as Jackson growls.  
  
“You didn't waste that stone for nothing,” the Nidoking says, and I am reminded of thunder rolling over the hills. His eyes, though narrow, are bright with determination and... glee? There's no other word for the smile that erupts from his face, and in that small motion he looks far less intimidating. “I won't let you down!"  
  
In the dim glow from the porch light and Jackson's tail flame, I see True break out into a wide smile. "Do you have a name?"  
  
"Not that I want to use anymore," he says, as he slaps his muscled tail on the ground.  
  
"Looks like a Nidoran I knew in the Safari Zone," Hyde says. "Julia, if you're a girl."  
  
"I'm not," the Nidoking laughs. "No... Julian," he says, tasting it on his tongue.  
  
"Julian," I repeat, and nod. "It suits you."  
  
The newly-named Julian nods. "So what do we do now?"  
  
"Tomorrow we train," True says, and snuggles deeper into her jacket as a cold wind blows through. "And after that, we win."  
  


* * *

  
Britt goes over every piece of equipment with us—not even True knows the function of some of the items. There are perks, I suppose, with training in the secret basement of Vermilion's Pokémon Fan Club: you know how to use a punching bag, how far away to stand to make target practice worthwhile, how to change the settings for the projectile-shooter. There are a few new pieces of tech that we have to play with in order to understand: flipping a switch allows a set of rings to levitate high above the air for aerial precision; repeatedly yanking a chain makes a line of targets move. Jackson moves between the equipment as though the Winter Equinox has come early, and even Britt can't keep a smile off her face as she begins planning a training regiment.  
  
I think I prefer the wilderness; the equipment rattles too much for my liking. I spend most of my time with the moving targets and inside the mini track, where I can at least try to block out the furious grunts and roars of my team mates. I run and fire until my cheeks feel empty and my head feels light. It's therapeutic, somehow, now that I've gotten into the routine of doing it. When I take breaks I watch the others: Jackson pummeling one of the punching bags, heaving and gritting his teeth; Clara barreling through the golden hoops, graceful and precise; Britt, covering one of the farther fields with blankets of frost and the first few wisps of snow. If they notice me watching they don't let me know.  
  
And though True does her best to flit between all of us, she spends most of her time getting to know Julian. We get by in her absence—Britt has practically been our coach since she'd joined the team—but it's still weird to see her emerge from beyond the gates with a towering Nidoking beside her, instead of Wilkes.  
  
We all pause and turn away from our training to watch them come in. True's cheeks and the tops of her bare shoulders are flushed but there's a look of satisfaction on her face as Julian moves past her, rigid in his movements but wearing an equally enthusiastic grin. Hyde is only a few seconds behind, a laughing smile on each of his faces. I breathe a sigh of relief. Jackson tries to hide his heavy breathing, puffing out wisps of flame. It catches Julian's eye, and he bats his tail on the ground experimentally with a knowing grin.  
  
"We ran into… one of the League officials on the way back here," she pants, wiping sweat from her brow. "Now that more people are starting to come through Victory Road, we'll have to share the training grounds. Just a few days, though, I want you all to get some good rest."  
  
"S'not like we couldn't go out and do training on our own," Jackson says.  
  
Britt leans against a heavy weight-training machine, dripping water. "Sure, go get injured before fighting the Elite Four."  
  
"I'd like to go into the town," Hyde says. "It'd be nice to see some people for once instead of fighting all the time."  
  
"Maybe at night it'd be easier to walk around," True says, and licks her lips. "The bakeries here are probably really good..."  
  
Movement catches my eye: Clara nodding as she casts her eyes over to Jackson. I hear his great huff behind me and flinch at the sudden rush of hot air that fades in the cold afternoon. True catches the action and sighs. "You can stay in your Poké Ball if you want."  
  
"Someone has to protect you," he says simply.  
  
I don't even have time to turn around before Julian steps forward, his one hand clenched in a fist. "If I had wanted to harm her, I would have."  
  
"But he didn't!" Hyde is quick to interject. "I watched him do all sorts of things, but nothing bad. He's super strong with that Ice Beam, I think we might have turned part of the forest into a patch of ice—"  
  
"You tried to steal from us!" Jackson interrupts, as though the Exeggutor had never spoken.  
  
"Yeah," Julian says, one hand on his hip, "because I thought you had food. You had way more than that, and frankly, I don't see what your problem is."  
  
I whip around just as Jackson takes a step back, fire flickering from his mouth. There's just enough electricity in me to zap him, the way I had when he'd gone on his tirade in Cerulean. Kerri had been the only one to talk sense into him—and then I breathe a sigh, because  _of course._  
  
"You take another step and I'll paralyze you," I say, and try not to piss myself.  
  
But it's hard when there's a huge fire-breathing dragon in front of you; even more so when he looks down with slits for pupils and bared teeth. Even with his sharp-angled face and twisting horns, there's just enough of a resemblance to that stone Arcanine, to the one who had been flesh and blood, that I start to shake where I stand. My heart pounds. He could easily burn me, whip me away with a smack of his powerful tail. But I've seen him grow up from a careless Charmander to a furious Charmeleon to the passionate, hotheaded,  _loyal_  Charizard who glares down at me now.   
  
I have to believe, somewhere, that he won't hurt me.  
  
From the corner of my eye I see Britt take a few steps forward, her cannons drawn; I shake my head, hold my paw up, and though she furrows her brow she stops just shy of us. I force myself to look straight into Jackson's eyes. "He's not who you're angry at."  
  
"He's the one who attacked us," he snarls, and my heart skips a beat.  
  
" _Julian_ ," I say, and amaze myself by not stuttering. "Julian did what trainerless Pokémon know how to do. They came to a human for help." Kind, sensitive, wonderful humans. "That's how we all came to be on this team, through—through circumstance. Right?" I lower my paws. "True found you on Route Twenty-Two, right?"  
  
He growls something low under his breath. My cheeks crackle. He looks away. "The man in black was there first. She rescued me."  
  
I chance a glance backward. True's shaking her head and is mouthing a familiar name. I look back over to Jackson. "And she protected you. She helped you grow."  
  
"She'n'Peter," he grits, "and Minka. And the rest of you." He lowers his head, almost shyly, and casts his eyes around the circle that's formed between the two of us. "Everyone's earned it, and I trust them."  
  
True's boots make dull thuds across the sandy ground. Five feet is all that separates her and the bowed dragon, more than close enough for the flash of teeth or claw or flame. But she extends her hand and closes the gap, brushing it along the side of his head. "I wouldn't have brought him back here," she says calmly, "if I didn't think we could trust him."  
  
"You trust different than I do," Jackson says, but lowers his head into her touch.  
  
"I have more reason to be afraid of you," Julian says, "than you do to be afraid of me. Could probably beat me right out of here."  
  
Jackson, still pressed into True's hand, glances back up. "I could."  
  
There's no denying he could, either. I haven't seen Julian fight, not really—judging by the range of his Ice Beams he's a distance fighter, and with one working arm I don't know how he'd fare against a close match against Jackson. The poisonous spikes over his body might help him, and I know he has a wicked bite, but what else?  
  
"I don't know anything about any of you, except from the few bits I've seen," and isn't that the heart of the problem? "You're powerful, especially if you made it through Victory Road. I might not gel with you all immediately, but I can help you fight. I can help you win. You don't need to trust me in order for me to do that." He sighs. "I'd like you to, though. It'd be easier to fight for a team than for a trainer."  
  
For a long time we just watch the two of them stare at each other, appraise each other. Jackson grips True tightly in an embrace and rests his pointed chin along the top of her head. "You have to prove yourself to me."  
  
Julian chuckles and extends his good hand. "I think I can try that."  
  
I don't expect Jackson to take the peace offering—but he doesn't burn it, and as far as I'm concerned that's good enough. With his furious eyes off of me I can breathe, and take in a few gulps of good, crisp air. Clara bends down to nibble the tips of my ears with her beak; I even hear a muffled "good job" from Britt, who looks away when I look to her for clarification. But the gratitude that shines in True's eyes is thank you enough, and I smile back at her.  
  
"Maybe tonight we'll just eat in," True says, "and talk to each other."  
  
"But  _tomorrow_  we can go into town?" Hyde asks, to quiet laughter.  
  
Julian pulls his hand back and nods. "I think that'd be nice."  
  
And, barring a few spats, it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were three times when I wanted to quit gameplay for Wonderwall. The first was in SS Anne, where Kerri and Peter died within minutes of each other; the second was in Silph Tower, where I lost Minka to bullshit in the form of two critical Aurora Beams; and the third was here, two steps into Victory Road, where I lost Wilkes.
> 
> And it wasn't even because I was particularly sad--Wilkes really didn't do much aside from offer assistance in catching Pokemon (almost all of whom don't appear in the story, because this run has enough characters without unused catches) but he was useful in shielding from dumb Selfdestructs and Explosions. But unfortunately, Levitate isn't a thing in Gen I; Wilkes didn't stand a ghost of a chance. [s]bad pun is bad and I apologize[/s] I will say that I ended up caring for Wilkes much more while writing him than I ever did playing with him, even though he was tricky to write for sometimes.
> 
> More than anything I was pissed off about losing him to a clutch Earthquake. Britt and Hyde took turns on point guiding me through the rest of Victory Road, but I figured that I was so close to finishing, and it wouldn't be [i]that[/i] much effort to train up a new recruit. So I flew all the way back, took the Nidorino I'd caught in Route 23 (which DOES have wild Pokemon in the grass, believe it or not), slapped the Moon Stone on him that I'd got from Mt Moon, and hiked through to the Elite Four. And then spent hours and hours grinding because that's what you do in Nuzlockes, right? Right.
> 
> Apart from Wilkes's death, nothing amazing happened in Victory Road, so I decided to skip it. We went in, came out with almost no PP, and then went back in again for grinding. Not much fun to try and narrate, and I just couldn't justify spending another chapter going through a cave where everything is dark, everyone wants to eat you... no, I like what I did with this much more, and I hope you all will too.
> 
> RIP Wilkes. I hope you found what you were looking for in death.


	79. Chapter Seventy-Three

The last few days bleed together in one chaotic blur. By now the pattern of eat, sleep, and fight has engraved itself into my bones. We spend less time in the training ground, where there are other trainers who fight for exclusive time with the equipment, and more in the wilds surrounding the Indigo Plateau. Julian picks fights with the locals, who seem to recognize him and want to test his strength; he defeats them effortlessly, with slaps of his tail and well-aimed Ice Beams that leave trails of frost in his wake. Any reservations that Jackson has are unfounded, or I have a different idea of strength: Julian’s control rivals Britt’s in terms of conservative precision.  
  
Save for a few excursions into town for food and supplies, we keep to ourselves, striking the ground and lifting rocks and splashing in a river that dies right in the middle of the forest. Just a few days of this intense training has reaped rewards: Jackson’s aim continues to get better and better, more precise and powerful; Clara is practically dancing through the air, any tremors from psychic damage long vanished; Britt is withstanding the worst of even my zaps, which don’t take as much energy out of me; Hyde’s endurance is building. We are all growing so much stronger.   
  
For a few moments every day, I dare to think that we might just be strong enough to conquer this thing. Then I think of my brother and his statue outside of Victory Road, and I begin to doubt again.  
  
None of it is True’s fault. I don’t say anything about it to her; I think she knows. But she’s upbeat and cautiously optimistic as she directs us in these final days of training, encouraging us with praise and treats. She’d managed to slip into town to buy a shirt and a new pair of dark jeans, and has taken to wearing Sherri’s coat even inside the apartment. It’s a brand new look for her, and she looks confident. I wish I could feel the same.  
  
It’s a struggle to not stare at the calendar with the dates crossed off every morning, as that circled Monday comes closer and closer. By Sunday night, despite our heavy training, I’m a bundle of nerves. I can’t stay still on the bed, even when True climbs tiredly into it. “Y’did good,” she yawns.  
  
“Tomorrow’s a big day,” I answer back, wide awake.  
  
She’s fighting sleep to look into my eyes. “Y’wanna talk about it?”  
  
Dare I let my insecurities keep her from getting a good night’s sleep? I shake my head. “In the morning,” I say. “Sleep well.”  
  
She presses a gentle hand on the top of my head, strokes the tuft of fur, and quickly falls asleep. I try to follow her, I do. I might even get a few hours. But when I suddenly startle awake, the feeling of burning sand under my paws, I know it’s useless to try and dig back into the covers.   
  
What I need is movement.   
  
The bedroom window faces the front door; all it takes is a quick flip of my wrist for it to open a crack. That’s all I need to slip outside and shut the window closed behind me. For a split second I think about turning back, because it’s _cold_ up here—and it’s a mountain, what should I expect?—but freedom feels too great a temptation to try to resist.  
  
I have about two seconds of peace and cold air in my lungs before something very close to me asks, "Out for a stroll?"  
  
I'm used to so much worse than Julian's rumbling voice, but I flinch all the same into his sleepy red eyes. It takes a second for my heart to restart. "Y'scared me."  
  
"Didn't mean to," the Nidoking says, and stretches along the grass. Our apartment is more than big enough for him, even with the others out of their balls, but he had been adamant about sleeping outside—he wanted the feel of the earth underneath his paws. "The bird and the dragon—”  
  
My eyes narrow. “Jackson and Clara?”  
  
“They left a little while ago. She seemed angry.” He stretches. “Where're you headed?"  
  
Jackson following an angry Clara into the skies should worry me more than it does; right now it’s just a little stab of fear, easily ignored in the need to get away from here. "Into town. Nothing's wrong," I whisper, when he opens his mouth to speak. "I'm just… jittery, I guess."  
  
"Don't need to explain," he says. "Want some company?"  
  
To be honest, I had hoped to slip in and out of here without anyone knowing. But Julian is the only member of the team sleeping outside—the others are curled up in the couches, in True's room, or apparently vanished—and it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to have a companion. "Sure," I say.  
  
It takes him a minute to get himself off the ground—he has to brace himself with his forearm, then push up and catch himself. The transition is clumsy. "New body," he mumbles, and I don't know if the words are for himself or for me. But finally he stands up, yawns, shakes his pointed head, and nods. "Alright. Lead the way."  
  
It’s a miracle that we haven’t seen the other contestants—perhaps, like us, they keep irregular hours, all the better to keep their strategies secret from any passerby. We only have to go half a mile on the dirt path to get to the outskirts of the city; dirt becomes cobblestone, and sound explodes.  
  
For most of the year, the Indigo Plateau is a deserted town—maybe a few hundred people live here full-time, as employees of the League and the few shopkeepers who service them. But twice a year, when the Elite Four opens their iron doors and accepts challengers from Kanto and Johto and even beyond, tourists flood in: in the span of a month, the city goes from servicing a few hundred people to tens of thousands. Every other building seems to be a hotel, and in every store window there are posters and merchandise of former and current Champions and their teams. The air is electric with throbbing bodies, with drinks and dolls clutched in the hands of old and young alike. The further away we get from the center of town, the more we see people stumbling through the streets linked by their arms and smelling of alcohol, rattling on about stats and type advantages. If they see me they don't recognize me, which I'm grateful for.  
  
Then again, Julian has never been seen with us, and it's almost impossible to forget a one-armed Nidoking. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that our trainer was out getting wasted.  
  
The lights from the streets and the shops paint the streets gold. It is very, very easy to read the signs that point, almost exclusively, to the small city's biggest and most noteworthy attraction. Julian and I follow them in silence—not a stoic silence, the kind that would always hover around Wilkes when he wasn't speaking cryptically, but a satisfied-enough silence that reminds me, in some strange way, of Clara. I’m not sure why my feet carry me to this place; it’s a magnetic pull, an instinct. Julian follows without any complaint.   
  
We don't need the lights and the displays from the hundreds of booths that line the main pathway to see how grand the stadium is. Despite everything, I've seen enough pictures to have the space memorized: four smaller stadiums that act as the exclusive battlefields of each Elite Four member, all surrounding the gigantic Champion battlefield that everyone pours into at the very end of the season. There are cameras placed in strategic places in every stadium, all the better to capture and broadcast the climactic events. I've never seen a battle in this place without a television screen in the way.   
  
In a few days, I'll be in one.  
  
"It's one thing to see all the statues," Julian breathes, "and then see all of this."  
  
My words exactly.  
  
There are a few people posing in front of the giant stone signs, a perfect photo spot. A few young girls stick their tongues out and tangle their limbs together as their father takes pictures and laughs at them. My heart seizes. Two men wrap themselves around each other in a far more passionate display. I turn away.  
  
“This is where we’re battling?” Julian asks.  
  
The tallest dome, the Champion’s, shines gold-white, like electricity. “This is it,” I say.  
  
[And you’re not supposed to be here.]  
  
Julian flinches so violently that I jump away in fear. The Nidoking’s red eyes are wide as he looks around, his fist lifted up in front of him like a protection, like a warning. But I recognize the deep voice that rumbles in my head. “We were just out for a walk.”  
  
Even when I’m watching for him, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when the Alakazam flashes into existence—one second there’s empty space, and the next McKey is there, staring at us with his dark eyes. [It is good to see you here. You look well.]  
  
The last time we’d seen each other, I had been a wreck. Anything would look good and mentally stable by comparison. “So do you. What’re you doing here?”  
  
[It's customary for every gym leader and their Pokémon to attend the tournament.]  
  
"And you're not with Sabrina because…?"  
  
[It's my turn to guard this part of the stadium from vandals and the overzealous,] he tells us, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious. [Sabrina’s resting for the beginning of tomorrow’s battles.]  
  
It’s still so strange to think of this as starting tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll go into an arena crowded with people. With any luck, we’ll win. Then we’ll do it again. And again. As often as we’re able.  
  
[No challengers are allowed the stadium before their time,] the Alakazam tells us.  
  
Julian rumbles low in his throat. “We didn’t—”  
  
But McKey has lifted his head, and it's clear that he isn't listening to us anymore. It's hypnotic to watch his gigantic, twitching ears; it takes Julian giving me a sharp shove with one of his claws for me to break away and start paying attention again.  
  
The Alakazam's dark eyes meet us. [You could have told me you were meeting someone.]  
  
Numbed by the cold and the awe from these building as I am, I don’t register the words right away. Comprehension comes like a cool chill, seeping into my bones. “But we weren't.”  
  
[You will be. The Machoke guard will let you in,] McKey says, and vanishes without another word.  
  
There's about a good ten seconds of stunned silence before Julian breathes a heavy sigh. "You really want to go in there?"  
  
There can only be two people waiting for me in there. A new, heavy weight settles on my shoulders.  
  
"No need to trap yourself between a rock and a hard place," he says.  
  
A year ago, maybe even a month ago, I would have agreed with him. I wouldn't even have made it this far. But the static in the air is so strong that even I'm picking up on it, and it hums in my bones with a stinging familiarity. Had they been the reason why I’d been drawn to this place? "You can go back if you want to."  
  
"I'm not going through that town on my own," he says immediately.  
  
I take the first tentative steps forward. For some reason I thought there would be a barrier. "You afraid of a little light?"  
  
"I spent my life out in the wild and gained strength by pawing through trainer's leftovers. The whole 'being in the human world' thing is still really new to me."  
  
The doors leading into the stadium are smaller than I’d imagined, but then I see the signs asking spectators to recall all of their Pokémon and begin to understand. The Machoke who stands guard gives us a look over with her dark eyes. “Let me guess. You battled McKey?”  
  
“You really want to make a scene in front of these people?” I ask, gesturing to the small family and the sloppy couple.  
  
She glares and sighs. “You’d think Bruno’s Pokémon would rank above Sabrina’s, but _no_. Every year we have to deal with McKey’s psychic bullshit,” she grumbles, and steps aside to let us pass.   
  
The door practically whispers to a close; I can see the Machoke guard’s silhouette against the foggy glass, her muscled back to us. Julian's heavy footsteps echo in the empty hallways that ring around and connect the five stadiums; our breathing bounces off the walls, heavy with pictures and posters. I’ve taken plenty of midnight walks through the lab when the lab attendants were asleep or on vacation—it wasn’t often, but it happened—but I had known every twist and turn of those pale walkways. There is absolutely no reason for either of us to be here.  
  
Julian stops behind me, his head tilted to the side. “Hear that?”  
  
I have to concentrate to hear the faint humming. The Nidoking is more than welcome to let me lead the way, sniffing and shuffling every few steps. I fight to keep my heart from thundering as we pass a pair of open doors.  
  
I’ve avoided all the broadcasts, closed my eyes to any of the pictures. But despite the cold emptiness, the dimmed lights, I recognize the giant stadium as the final destination for any Elite Four challenger. This is the Champion’s battleground. And the second I realize that is when I start really feeling that heaviness settling on my shoulders again.  
  
There is nothing particularly noteworthy about this stadium: the seats are covered in blue and gold and black, and there are banners sponsoring Silph products and designer capes. The battling platform is raised slightly, and the lines glow in the absence of floodlights. They provide just enough illumination for us to see a figure laying on the tiled battlefield, a portable boom box blasting soft rock between them.  
  
“Isn’t that Champion Mancon?” Julian whispers.  
  
If he’s wild, how would he know? But he lived outside of Victory Road; it probably isn’t much of a stretch that he’d pick up Chris’s face, maybe even his scent.   
  
I’m focused more on the song that’s playing through the boom box. They’re not playing it through any speakers, so the lyrics bleed into an incoherent mess. But I recognize a few of the runs. I don’t remember the name of the song, but it’s about some beloved celebrity dying suddenly, and the effects of his death on a number of people.  
  
It’s horrifically fitting, somehow.  
  
I’m drawn to the music. If Julian is following me, I’m not aware of it. The steps are steep but I jump down them as though they were a gradual hill. Sooner than I’d like to admit, I’m standing just below the raised platform, watching Chris and Tanza sitting up and watching me.  
  
We don’t say anything for a very long time. Just stare, as the music continues to play. When it finally ends, minutes later, Chris shuts the boom box off with a heavy hand.  
  
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I mumble. “I just wanted to… look around, I guess.”  
  
“It’s okay.” It’s only been a few months since the Silph takeover—even with an unsteady smile, Chris looks like he’s aged another ten years. “We tried sneaking in our first time too. Bruno threw us out.”  
  
They’re just laying there on that battlefield, which has seen so much—  
  
“The first thing we did was tear up the floor,” Tanza says, his clawed hands ghosting over the tile. “It’s not the original.”  
  
Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that his body didn’t hit _this_ tile doesn’t mean that he didn’t die in this stadium, with hundreds of thousands of eyes watching him.  
  
And yet.  
  
The floor is smooth and cold to the touch. There is no give. My footsteps are silent as I come to a stop, just feet away from the edge. They’re still several yards away, curled around the center of the battlefield. I look back to see Julian staring at us from the shadows. The confusion on his face stays for a moment or two, but fades to a passive encouragement.  
  
I blink my gratitude before turning to Chris and Tanza.  
  
“Everyone wanted to do a big anniversary for his death,” Chris says, staring calmly at me. “I said no. But every year, the day before the Elite Four challenges begin, Tanza and I come down here and remember him.” He runs a hand through his hair; he’s growing it out a bit. It suits him. “I guess it’s sort of selfish, to not want to share that with other people.”  
  
“I would go up into the woods with my guitar and play until my fingers bled,” I say, “and then some.”  
  
Chris’s eyes are glassy in the half-light. “He would’ve been so excited to see you here, you know. On a battling team, with a trainer.” He pauses. “Unless you’re a therapy—”  
  
“I’m a battler,” I say, and the words are easy to say. They’re natural. They’re right.  
  
“And this must be one of your teammates,” Tanza says, lifting his head to Julian.  
  
“Julian,” the Nidoking says. “And I have a feeling I shouldn’t be here…”  
  
Even a month ago I would have pushed him away. Anyone but True would have gotten a hard stare, a spark. But now, months and revelations later, I shake my head. “Come up with us.”  
  
But he shakes his head. “I’m good here, right behind you.”  
  
There’s nothing I could do to force him to come up, even if I wanted to. But I feel like I’m exposing myself, being alone on this battlefield with them. My eyes are permanently fixed on the tips of my toes.   
  
“You saved us at Silph,” Chris says softly. “Why?”  
  
I remember that fight only in pieces: me falling from the vent, the Nidoqueen, Britt and True and the rest of the team appearing like a miracle. I don’t think I remember moving. I turn away from them, my fingers looking for something to grab onto—the floor is too hard for that. “Does it matter?”  
  
“It does to me,” Tanza says. “To the region. It would have mattered to him.”  
  
Shouldn’t there be a rule not to talk about the dead on a battlefield? My mouth is dry as I sigh. “Well. We’re all here now.”  
  
A very long silence passes. The music starts playing again, a somber tune with a sad guitar at its heart.  
  
“I should have sent you his a long time ago,” Chris says, and it’s too perfect to not be a coincidence. But then, how would he have known that I’d come calling? He twiddles his fingers, looks down at them with weary eyes. “I should have tried harder to get in contact with you after Al… but you kept pushing me away, and I thought—”  
  
“Wait. What?”  
  
Chris doesn’t answer, but continues to look at his hands. It’s Tanza who clears his throat, who looks to him; when the High Champion continues to stay silent, the Electabuzz sighs. “We couldn’t get out of Indigo Plateau right away, with everything that happened. Chris had to go through his High Champion training, and there was so much media demand for us… but when we finally went to Pallet Town a few months near the end of that season…”  
  
I don’t remember any of this; most of that year is one massive blur to me. No one talks about it for good reason. “But… you tried?”  
  
Is that a smile on Chris’s face? “One of the aides wouldn’t let me through the door,” he laughs, and it isn’t a bitter sound. “The Professor had to get involved. We looked everywhere for you but couldn’t find you. I took the hint. I just thought… well, maybe I was wrong.”  
  
My paws are shaking. I have to swallow past the rock that’s grown in my throat. “I’m sorry.”  
  
That awkward silence extends from me to blanket everyone; even Julian looks uncomfortable.   
  
I don’t remember much about my life before the lab, before True. Most of my memories involved Al and traveling through Sinnoh with Chris and his cousin, an aspiring Pokémon Ranger. I remember being cold, and snuggling up to the others in search of warmth. I remember watching Al train, watching him evolve, watching him train some more. I remember Chris losing some of his chubbiness and replacing it with lean muscle. I remember laughing in the firelight and not being afraid of it.  
  
“Do you ever think about going back home?” I ask.  
  
Chris sighs. “I don’t really know where home is anymore. Not Hoenn, definitely. I could go back to Sinnoh to be with my cousin, he’s been wanting to see me and it’s hard to get a plane from there to here… I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place this long before.” He looks up at the ceiling, a dark dome with illuminated clouds, and smiles. “It’ll be nice to leave.”  
  
My ears shoot up. “Leave? You’re going on vacation?”  
  
Tanza and Chris trade long looks again. Finally the Electabuzz sighs. “He’s resigning as High Champion.”  
  
My brow furrows. My heart beats. And despite all common sense, despite knowing that this should be a _good_ thing and I won’t have to see him again, I start sparking. “When were you going to tell people?”  
  
“There’s a press conference tomorrow, a few hours before battling starts. I’ll stay on to help train my successor, but after that…” Chris sighs. “Defeating Team Rocket was the most exciting thing that’s happened in years. I want to do that all the time. I need to explore and see more of the world. And there are plenty of people here who can handle the job of High Champion.”  
  
Julian meets my eyes with a cautious optimism, but speaks to Chris. “You could have picked a better time.”  
  
“Before someone defeats all of the Elite Four? No. Tanza and I talked about it a lot, and it was decided that this was the best time.” He fingers the boom box, grabs the handle firmly. “I should actually be going over my notes, so…”  
  
But I’d just gotten to see him again. Maybe if I had a bit more time—  
  
“I’ll follow you,” Tanza says, and somehow Chris has already stood up, boom box in hand, to walk away.  
  
I watch him do it in stunned silence. Julian’s heavy paw is broad enough to fit three of my shoulders; it hovers hesitantly above me. Chris is swallowed up in darkness, and the music that had thrummed through here becomes just another distant memory.  
  
“It surprised me, too. But traveling again will be good for him.” Tanza sighs. “It’s something he’s wanted to do for a very long time.”  
  
Why does his absence ache more than his presence had? “How could you let him do it?” I whisper.  
  
“I would do whatever it took to make him happy,” Tanza says firmly.  
  
“It’ll just be strange to see a new High Champion,” Julian murmurs.  
  
The Electabuzz chuckles sadly. “I wouldn’t say that. Chances are good that it might be you.”  
  
It’s like my feet drop through the floor. It’s one thing to defeat the Elite Four and the Champion and enjoy League-sanctioned benefits; it’s a whole other monster to be the head of the Pokémon League. Julian must see the panic in my eyes because he chuckles. “We’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it, eh?”  
  
Transitions. Had-beens to will-bes.  
  
“I don’t think we should keep you out any longer,” Tanza says. “Did you want McKey to teleport you two back to your apartment?”  
  
I should be more worried that an Alakazam knows where we’re staying, especially since he can probably teleport right inside the building. But Julian shakes his head adamantly and starts climbing the stairs. “I’d appreciate the walk, truth be told.”  
  
“Of course,” Tanza says, and bows his head before settling back on the tile again.  
  
This is his battlefield, practically his back yard. And we have never gotten along. Why, then, do I feel guilty leaving him here on his own in the semidarkness and the quiet?   
  
“You’re really staying out here by yourself?” I ask him. I’m still on the battlefield.  
  
“I could use the quiet,” the Electabuzz says simply. “After tomorrow’s announcement, it might be a while before I find it again.”  
  
“We should get going,” Julian says, and gestures up to the dark gates.  
  
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. I turn my back to him and jump down onto the stairs. New music, that first song in a scratchy voice, starts filling up the stadium.  
  
I have to turn back to him, even if he might not hear me. “You really loved him,” I call out, “didn’t you.”  
  
It startles Tanza out of his singing. He does not push himself up to look at me again. I climb a few stairs to see him flat on his back, his head pointed away from me. But then he looks up and stares me right in the eye. “He’s the reason I’m here.”  
  
His cryptic answer is final; he doesn’t answer any more of my questions. Finally we’re forced to leave him to his voice and his memories. I try not to trip over mine as we exit the stadium. The Machoke at the gate has been replaced by a long purple snake—one of Koga’s?—who glares at us all the way down the road back into the heart of town.  
  
“You know, when I signed up to come battle with you guys, I didn’t expect such an intense… thing,” Julian says. “This might be more than I bargained for.”  
  
Him and me both.  
  


* * *

  
We get maybe two hours sleep before the Pokédex alarm begins chirping and True stumbles out of bed. She’s humming nervously, with an anxious bounce in her step and a twitching smile. She makes Chansey eggs and tofu bacon, toast with real Miltank butter, pancakes with chocolate chips. There’s high-protein Pokéchow for all of us.   
  
Jackson, Hyde, Julian, and Britt eat all of their portions and then some. Clara sits right beside Jackson, sometimes managing to steal bits of his kibble. Any hostility has left her; she laughs at Jackson as he inhales his food.  
  
They’re all so calm. Even Julian, who continues flashing his eyes up at me.  
  
“I can’t believe it’s finally here,” True murmurs, and takes another nibble from her toast. “Two battles today, two tomorrow… I’ve been dreaming about this but I never thought…”  
  
Telling her will only stress her out. And she needs to be calm these first two battles. Maybe after that, when she’s gone through the motions of an Elite Four battle and knows their rhythms, I’ll confess everything that had happened last night—the conversation and the stadium and hell, maybe even the walk over.  
  
Julian meets my eye and shakes his head, like he can read my mind.  
  
“You’re quiet over there,” Britt says, and eyes me suspiciously. “Nervous?”  
  
I bite down my bit of Pokéchow and say nothing, because what if everything falls out?  
  
“Will you be ready to fight?”  
  
I don’t know anything anymore.   
  
It’s eight in the morning now; according to True’s preparation materials, no one will come to pick us up until noon, and the battling won’t begin until one. Julian, Clara, and Jackson all volunteer themselves for a few extra hours of sleep, leaving Hyde, Britt, True, and I to commandeer the couch and the floor in our spacious living room.  
  
“Maybe getting up this early wasn’t the best idea,” True says, as she clicks through the channels—everything that isn’t commercials is focused on today’s battle. “You all can go back to sleep too, if you want.”  
  
“I’d be up,” Britt says.  
  
“I kind of just want to fight, you know?” Hyde says. “Will we get a big dinner tonight after everything?”  
  
Why the hell are we all so calm? Our lives could change in just a few hours. Our lives could _end_. I’ve had battle training and I’ve participated in a few gym battles, sure, but Al had been invincible and in the end none of it even mattered.  
  
“Should probably check the Battle Network,” Britt says, and before I can even open my mouth the picture turns to bright banners and Chris’s face.  
  
“ _…my successor will be given every resource they need in order to replace me,_ ” Chris says.  
  
Reporters are throwing questions like bullets, and it’s the outside of Victory Road again. When had he decided to do this? Does he know where he’s going? Does he have a particular candidate in mind?  
  
“ _We’ll have to see who can defeat the Elite Four,_ ” he answers. “ _I need to go prepare for the first matches, so if you’ll excuse me…_ ”  
  
Even in the light he looks exhausted. Maybe even more so. All four of us are leaning toward the screen to soak in the words and implications. A news banner is running down the screen, “HIGH CHAMPION TO RESIGN,” even as Chris walks away from his oak podium and the picture turns to the shocked anchors on screen.  
  
“ _Well that certainly wasn’t something I was expecting, huh Trisha?_ ”  
  
“ _It, uh, certainly wasn’t. Wow. As if the stakes weren’t high enough on the four trainers vying for a shot at the Championship!_ ”  
  
“ _We’ll have to consult the rule book to see what the protocol is for situations like these. As if the League didn’t have enough problems to solve, with the Silph crisis and the search for a permanent gym leader in Viridian City!_ ”  
  
“ _For more on that, we turn to the temporary gym leader, Peg Hartfield. Now Peg—_ ”  
  
Britt clicks the remote and the screen flashes to black. Even she seems at a loss for words; her gold eyes are wide and her mouth is open.  
  
“So,” Hyde says softly, “what does that mean?”  
  
It means we have even more reason not to screw up. It means all the other battlers will be more vicious. These aren’t just good-natured battles anymore, they’re something far more meaningful.  
  
“Nothing,” True says softly. She nods to herself. “We fight like nothing’s changed. There’s a pool that they can draw from, Chris won’t—Chris wouldn’t—”  
  
Chris, a foreigner who had just lost his Starter in a very traumatic and public way, had been fourteen when he’d been instated as Kanto’s High Champion. And it’s been so long since we’ve had a new High Champion that I forget the protocol. Is there a committee who votes for things like this?  
  
Is there a chance, any at all, that True might _win?_  
  
“Don’t tell the others,” Britt says, and turns to look at the door where the others are sleeping. “No need to stress them out.”  
  
Julian already knows. Clara and Jackson will find out at some point. And then what happens?  
  
I think I doze the last few hours we have. Suddenly there is a knock on the door and everyone has gathered into the living room, standing as one shaking group. Hyde answers the door with nothing more than a wink, allowing a familiar Alakazam to float in. McKey’s clawed feet don’t even brush against the ground. He pays Julian and me no attention. [Are you all prepared?]  
  
One by one True recalls the others into their balls. It was one thing to see the inside of the stadium, but it’s a whole other monster to see McKey standing in our apartment. It means this is real. True’s hand on my side pulls me a little out of my head. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she whispers, and it’s only when I look her right in the eye do I see a flicker of panic in her own face. “You’ll see.”  
  
I cannot be afraid. I cannot let Chris get into my head and ruin this, again. And what was it that True had said? It means nothing if we can’t defeat the Elite Four to begin with. So I close my eyes and take deep breath after deep breath, very aware of McKey’s patient eyes on us. When my heart feels like it’s not going to shatter out of my chest, I nod.  
  
McKey extends a long-fingered hand. True takes it. We vanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.


	80. Chapter Seventy-Four

Everything gleams: the floor, polished to the point where I can easily see my reflection; the wood arms of the huge sofa chairs, covered in beautiful red fabric; the frames on the pictures that take up all the space on the white walls. Even the five giant doors, each emblazoned with a symbol—crashing snowflakes, two fists met at the knuckles, a bolt of forked lightning, a smoking eye, a curled dragon—have been polished to glistening.  
  
There is a heaviness here that doesn't come from fear or awe, or maybe it's a combination of both. In every frame there is a picture of a Champion and their team. I am reminded so strongly of the photo wall in Vermilion's Pokémon Fan Club that it aches. Somewhere, I know, there is a picture of Chris and Tanza and Al and the other teammates I have not met, probably never will meet; and somewhere in this room there is a picture of the previous High Champion and her Arcanine.  
  
Thousands of eyes are staring down at us, all having overcome this great obstacle in their journeys, all expecting us to do the same.  
  
This room had been one of the last things my brother had seen before he'd died. Had he felt nervous? Had he slept well? Pure adrenaline is keeping my eyes open right now; I'm shaky and raw because of it. I had managed to keep most of my cool between training and going into the city itself, and even on that battlefield. But going had obviously been a mistake, I'd been _fine_ before that, and now I feel like I'm going to fall apart at the seams.  
  
True notices, and ghosts a kiss at the base of my ear. "You want to talk about it?"  
  
"Maybe," I begin, before a flash of light draws our eyes. Gary appears with his arm linked around a Kadabra's, his hair swept back from his face and his clothes perfectly pressed. He shakes himself but doesn't look as flustered as True—maybe he's used to it, with Michaela. He plucks a few stray hairs off his black jacket before looking up to us. He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks against it, and instead turns to the pictured walls. He seems fiercer now, with a determined glint in his eyes. Apparently he'd been watching the news before coming here, too.  
  
We had spent time training and strategizing instead of watching the news. Was it going to be just Gary and True against the Elite Four? But after a few tense minutes pass a blonde woman appears, letting go of her Abra escort to readjust the tilt of her wide-brimmed hat so the shadow doesn't fall directly onto her face. There's something familiar about her, but I'm too busy absorbing in the room and the consequences of being here to wonder where I might have seen her.  
  
There isn't a clock in this room, but I'd guess that fifteen minutes pass before the three psychic foxes flash out of the room. They leave a clear message behind: we are the only challengers. And when we interpret that message, the center-most door—the lightning bolt, the final destination—opens.  
  
I'm expecting Chris or even Tanza to walk into the room, not the tall ginger man with the hard eyes who comes to greet us. He blends right in with the fancy decor, from the top of his gelled hair to the bottom of his black boots. "Normally High Champion Mancon would be addressing you here," says the dragon master, "but he's busy battling off the paparazzi. Maybe even literally." He pauses to flash a grin that doesn't match his extravagant wardrobe. When no one reacts, he coughs and continues. "You should have read all about this in the packets you received before your eighth badge, but here's just a reminder.  
  
"For the next two days you'll be battling against the Elite Four. The order has been randomly determined for you; when the buzzer sounds," he says, gesturing to the four doors, "your picture will show on the door to the battlefield of your opponent. Each day you will fight two matches, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. You'll have a few hours of downtime to rest in between. If a Pokémon is declared unable to battle due to exhaustion or serious injury, you'll recall them and place their ball into a recall machine in the corner of your podiums. They'll be transported to the Indigo Plateau's Pokémon Center and will be unavailable to you for the rest of your challenge. Should you advance to the third round, you'll be returned to your apartment for the night, and then picked up for battling the next morning. Losing trainers will be escorted back to their apartments, where they are free to stay for the rest of the tournament. Holds have been placed on your box accounts, so you can't swap your Pokémon during rest hours." He adjusts the chain on his leather cape. He must have memorized the speech from the guidebooks; it sounds scripted and too artificial, somehow at odds with his extravagant costume. "Any questions?"  
  
Information is swimming so chaotically in my head that I have to grab onto True's collar to stay on her shoulder. Forget questions, I'm trying to process everything he's said.  
  
"So what happens after we beat the Elite Four?" Gary asks, breaking the fragile silence. "Is Champion Mancon accepting challenges?"  
  
Lance shakes his head. "The Elite Four will serve as your only challenge. Whoever completes the circuit, and if necessary defeat their contemporaries, they'll be named Champion."  
   
"What about naming a new High Champion?"  
  
Lance narrows his eyes. "You'll be entered into the pool of candidates," he says, "which is judged by the eight Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, and the current High Champion. Are there any other questions?"  
  
"Will we be able to visit our wounded Pokémon?" True asks.  
  
"A team of Abra will be on standby to transport you, should the need arise."   
  
The stranger lifts her pointed chin. "When do our pictures get taken?"  
  
Lance blinks, takes a look around the room, and laughs. "Thanks for reminding me," he says, and pulls a small camera seemingly out of nowhere. "So one at a time, if you will…"  
  
I feel like there should be a set order for this—maybe even "who came out of Victory Road first"—but the woman practically flings her Poké Balls out of the small bag looped around her arm, demanding the first picture against the solid doors. Her Pokémon look as strong as they do beautiful, their coats gleaming—a limber Persian, a glistening Pidgeot, a snickering Vileplume, a haughty Flareon, a proud Rapidash, and a vacant-seeming Seadra. And now that I see her beside the Pidgeot, I remember her: she'd been in the maze at Fuchsia Gym, she'd battled after us. But hadn't she had dark hair before? Does it matter?  
  
Gary and True don't even look at each other between their sessions; she allows him to go first with a small nod of her head, and he is silent as he stands against the door and releases his Pokémon. The only change to Gary's team is the Exeggutor who had once been an Exeggcute, and whose name I can't remember. They all stand stoic and proud and _tired_ ; even Cassidy, who chances a glance at me from my place on True's shoulder, looks more worn than usual. The last time I had seen Cassidy she had been confident, determined. What the hell had happened to them?  
  
But when it's our turn to step in front of Lance and his pocket camera, I wonder if there's just something naturally sobering about standing and getting a formal picture taken. The only one who seems to enjoy himself, as always, is Hyde, who peppers in stray observations about the room in between takes. The others may be silent but they're _strong_ , and when I chance a glance at them I can see equal looks of determination on their faces. Even Julian, who had been with me last night, seems strong and content in the face of this flashing light.  
  
Am I wearing that face? Are they secretly terrified, too?  
  
"Those should turn out great," Lance says, as True recalls the others. "Should any of you complete your matches against the Elite Four, we'll prepare these for printing. And as a final reminder, you can only have one Pokémon follow you through the tunnels." He pockets the silver camera, looks up for a minute, and the nods. "That's everything. You still have a little bit of time before your first matches. I suggest you use it wisely. Good luck."  
  
After Lance leaves, there's a good minute where the three trainers stare at each other. Tension crackles, and the room that had seemed so extravagant and spacious now feels three feet wide. The blonde settles her eyes on True and nods. "I suppose winning against Koga wasn't a fluke after all, if you're here."  
  
I could never remember her name. Fretatta? Margarita?  
  
"Carlotta St Clair," she says, and extends a slender hand.  
  
True takes it after a moment's pause and nods her head. "True Fargone."  
  
"First one to come out of Victory Road," she says, and turns her eyes to Gary. "And I know you, of course. The Professor's grandson."  
  
"The guy who kicked Team Rocket out of their Celadon hideout and vanquished them for good," Gary says sharply. "But yeah, Gary Oak."  
  
"Hmm. Pardon me," Carlotta says. "But if we don't know which order we'll be going in, I have to think of my strategies. Excuse me," she says, and settles into the closest red chair to think.  
  
He huffs and crosses his arms. "She's either going to be prepared or she isn't."  
  
" _Excuse me_ ," Carlotta growls.  
  
I can't even hate him because he isn't wrong; all the planning in the world won't help you in that last-second moment. He shrugs and turns to us. "Wish they didn't have to call us so early, y'know? What are we supposed to do?"  
  
"Think about our place in the universe?" True offers. Gary rolls his eyes. I stifle a laugh, but that may be because I'm trying too hard to breathe.  
  
There's more than enough room for everyone to keep their teams out until the final call, but no one does. Hell, after a few minutes it's clear that I'll be the only Pokémon out here. I hang tightly to True's shoulder, trying not to look too hard at the Champion photos. Gary stays far away from the three of us, switching his attention from his bag of supplies to the doors to the photos to the high-rising ceiling. Time stretches onward. There is still no clock in the room, and neither Gary or True pulls out a Pokédex. I don't think they want to know how much time they have left to wait. No one talks, we just breathe and try not to pay too much attention to the low rumble of entering spectators overhead.  
  
Do I break the silence? Do I let my eyes wander around the room? But they won't wander—they'll settle right on Al's portrait. And then where will I be?  
    
After what feels like an eternity, four of the doors hum to life; only the center-most door, leading to Chris's battlefield, stays silent. The screens on the very tops shuffle randomly between the three trainers—Gary True Carlotta True Carlotta Gary Carlotta True—and then, with the sound of a buzzer, stop. I find True's picture above the snowflake emblem and take a breath. Lorelei and her ice-type Pokémon.  
  
"The brute," the girl scoffs, and stands in front of the two colliding fists.  
  
Gary's own eyes are fixated on the smoking eye, Agatha's room.   
  
"The first one's the hardest," True whispers. "Right?"  
  
I open my mouth to reply, but it's Gary who answers. "Depends. You'll have to fight them all anyway."  
  
" _Challengers, please stand in front of your doors._ "  
  
The second all three trainers are at their places the chosen doors open, eerily quiet for their size. We still must be a distance away from the stadium, and yet a rush of cool air strikes us in the face. True snuggles deeper into her coat.  
  
" _Proceed. Good luck._ "  
  
True has turned her head to flash a look at Gary, but he's already made his way through the door. The half-familiar blonde is only steps behind him. Both of their doors clank shut behind them.  
  
"Ready?" True asks. I have to fight to nod.  
  
The echoes of our closing door follow us all the way down the blue-tiled hallway, dark save for a few strings of twinkling white lights. Our breath is starting to show, smoking up above us in wispy twirls of heat. Soon True and I are pressed together by more than the mutual need for support—my side warms her neck, and her collar keeps my lips warm. Are we supposed to shake out our nerves, and therefore be better prepared for whatever lies ahead? Is this supposed to remind me of Seafoam Islands? I'm too cold to answer these questions.  
  
"Are you scared?" I ask.  
  
She nods. "I'm always scared before I battle. But it keeps me focused, you know? If I get too comfortable I make mistakes."  
  
Our footsteps echo off the walls; our breaths tumble into what sounds like a long, continuous sigh.  
  
"I don't care if I want to stay in," I say. "If you think I'm over my head, you pull me out."  
  
Her hands are shaking—from cold or new nerves?—when she nods.  
  
"I need you to say it," I whimper.  
  
She looks over at me and nods. "I promise."  
  
We step into the stadium proper, blinded by the bright lights and made silent by the roar of the crowd. Thousands of voices are crying out, a wordless din that assaults my ears. Everything is so bright and so open and so _loud_ that it's hard to concentrate on any one thing. True marches forward, stopping just short of her podium to place her hand in the pocket where the team waits in their balls.  
  
I crane my neck up to get a look at the battlefield. For a moment I think we're back in Cerulean Gym, with its huge pool. But the floating supports have been replaced sheets of ice, broken up by choppy waves; there is no seeing down into the dark water, not even from the two podiums that overlook the battlefield. And there are cameras floating around everywhere, some suspended on wires in the safe space outside the battle lines and others propelling effortlessly through the air. On one giant screen I see our faces—we look bewildered but strangely calm. I don't know why that is because my heart is thrumming in the base of my throat. There is no calm here but, somehow, only a touch of fear.  
  
True takes a deep breath. "You're sure you want to do this?"  
  
We'd gone over the basic rosters; True had been watching the Indigo Plateau matches as long as she could remember. I knew what was in store. We had a plan and I had come too far to give in to this, right? I'd fought in Cerulean. I'd fought in the Seafoam Islands. I'd met the Ice Titan and lived; that was nothing compared to this, right?  
  
"You promised," I say, and swallow. "And we trained. We can do this?"  
  
Someone on the overhead is announcing us. I don't pay attention to it—how can I, when there is so much of the battlefield to see and nerves to keep from dominating? Keep out of the water, the ice will be slick, no doubt that Lorelei's Pokémon will be manipulating it somehow. There's a huge screen that's focusing on True's face—it'll be better than trying to turn behind me all the time. Don't fight the sliding, use it to your advantage. Remember Quick Attack.  
  
I'm jostled out of my thoughts as the roaring of the crowd suddenly crescendos. The purple-haired woman who strides confidently into the center of the stadium wears only a light jacket over her black dress, as if the cold doesn't even bother her. There is a power and grace to her approach that somehow isn't at odds with this blunt battlefield. True and Lorelei meet each other on the podiums. My eyes can't help but be drawn to the tall column on True's left-hand side—the emergency transport for injured Pokémon. True must notice my anxiety because she presses her cheek against my side, a silent show of support. A black microphone hangs on its support near the center of the podium; True inspects it and hesitates for a moment before pinning it to her collar.  
  
"Welcome to the Indigo Plateau, True Fargone." Lorelei's voice, a powerful alto, reverberates through the speakers. "I'm Lorelei, member of the Kanto Elite Four and master of ice-type Pokémon. Shall we do battle?"  
  
True takes a long look up into the open ceiling, murmurs something under her breath, and nods. "I challenge you," True says, and her voice rings across the stadium to cheers and polite applause.  
  
Lorelei smiles and snaps her fingers.  
  
The pool erupts, the crowd cheers. With all of the ice it takes me a moment to find the streamlined shape of the Dewgong that rests in the middle of the battlefield, dripping icy water from its long snout. It's sleeker than the Dewgong who had attacked in the Seafoam Islands, but even from here I can see the quiet fire in its dark eyes.  
  
I take one long breath and will my legs to move, and jump from True's shoulder onto the battlefield. The ice hasn't crept up to this part yet; I land with just a slight hiccup, but right myself within heartbeats. I take a look back toward True, who has slipped into her battle stance: slightly hunched, eyes focused, fists clenched. If she feels nervous, she doesn't show it; she's all fierce determination and quiet confidence. I take a moment to soak it in, let it warm my quickening paws.  
  
"Traditionally, the challenger makes the first move," Lorelei says. I can hardly see her face from the ground. But she's not the one I'm supposed to be looking at anyway. The Dewgong has turned to me, tilting its head in silent curiosity. What will our first move be?  
  
I'm already beginning to charge before True cries, "Thunderbolt!"  
  
How long has it been since the Cerulean match? Since Fuchsia? Since training with Cassidy? If the Casey of six months ago were watching now I don't think he would recognize my bent back, my forward hunch, the electricity that doesn't rip but flows from me like it's a natural extension of my body. I know just where to guide it, and it follows my lead, landing home against the Dewgong's icy side. I hear a howl and cut the power, and it's as easy as flipping a light switch. When the glow from the attack dies the icy Pokémon is bent over himself, huffing and twitching. He looks behind and shakes his head. Lorelei nods and, without any word spoken between the two, recalls him.  
  
The screen, which minutes ago had been concentrated on True's bewildered face, has been split in half to show both battling trainers. There's a hint of a smile on True's face, surprise in Lorelei's. But the ice-type master isn't Elite because of one Pokémon, and quickly sends out another Pokémon to take the Dewgong's place.  
  
I've seen plenty of Cloyster resting on the southern shores of Pallet, towering boulders compared to the many Shellder that litter the beaches. The Cloyster that erupts in a flash is larger and lighter in color than the ones I'm used to. One of the aides had done her research on the material in Cloyster shells: very physically sturdy, but throw any special attack…  
  
"Thunderbolt!"  
  
One shock is all it takes for it to retreat into its shell and refuse to emerge.  
  
This doesn't seem to bother Lorelei; if anything, it intrigues her. "I haven't seen many Pikachu challenge me," Lorelei calls as her Cloyster disappears back into its Poké Ball. "Mostly Raichu. Have you thought about evolving him?"  
  
I had never given a thought to evolving; why would I, when seeing my face in a reflection would only make me think of my brother? Do people even know of my connection to Al? I chance a glance over at True, whose eyes have hardened. "He's fine the way he is."  
  
Lorelei chuckles. "Apparently so. But how will he handle this?" she asks, as another ball splits open.  
  
I've only seen a Slowbro once, a companion from a visitor from a tiny forest town in southern Johto. I'd forgotten how fat they were, how their muzzles naturally curl up into pensive smiles. This Slowbro has to be a good battler to be an Elite Four Pokémon, but there's something strangely calming about the good-natured gleam in her eyes and the way she lounges on top of her shell-encased tail.  
  
"Casey," True calls. I could probably hear her without the speaker system. "Come back."  
  
I'm only too happy to do so, and slip just a few times before climbing back onto the podium. I take my place on True's shoulder just as she's sending out another Poké Ball. At first I think that the ice has caught the sun, and the tall figure materializing is a trick of the light. But no, Hyde is staring down at me with surprise in every pair of his eyes.  
  
"I just need you for this one fight," True calls out. "You ready?"  
  
One of Hyde's faces closes its eyes; another mutters something so quickly that I can't get the gist of it. But his cry of "Let's do this!" is confident, and he leans forward, so strikingly True-like that it takes me off guard.  
  
"Vanta," Lorelei says, "you know what to do."  
  
"Mmmmmm," the Slowbro hums, and begins to beat her belly.  
  
At first I think the dull roar and crackling is just me finally being aware of the crowd, but then I see the jagged edges start splintering into the water, glimmering a pale purple. There's only so much room for Hyde to go and he's a giant Pokémon; fear and determination show themselves in equal parts on Hyde's faces. More than half the ice has broken in the few seconds it takes for True to call for a Mega Drain.  
  
I look away from the green shine of Hyde's eyes to Vanta, who is completely encased in the light. Even in pain she looks serene, though her paws quickly lose their steady rhythm. Quicker than I'd expected, she shoots her broad paws outward, sending tiny shards of ice to strike Hyde in his faces. They all scream, and I have to duck to pull my ears down against my face in order to block out the sound. I don't hear True's repeated command so much as _feel_ it, and by the time I'm able to look back up again the Slowbro is encased again in green.  
  
Hyde is careful not to move off his small patch of ice, but he winks at us with shocked glee in his eyes. Vanta slumps forward with just a yawn and a laugh, and it's a sound that haunts even the few precious seconds after she's been recalled to her Poké Ball.   
  
"You'd bring a grass-type against an ice-type master?" Lorelei asks, pocketing Vanta into her coat jacket.  
  
It's almost reflex-like, the way True extends her hand to recall Hyde in his Safari Ball.  
  
Lorelei chuckles and throws yet another ball with a casual flick of her wrist. The Jynx that appears in a flash of white stands stoically, and yet there is movement in her long hair and gloved hands. She eyes me with a critical eye, so much like her trainer's, and chuckles as though she's heard an entertaining joke.  
  
I am not surprised when the flash of light from True's next Poké Ball materializes into Jackson. The Charizard eyes the frozen battlefield and his opponent with interest in his eyes. He climbs a good three yards above the battlefield and bellows with a challenging roar.  
  
"Flamethrower, full blast!"  
  
As if Jackson does it any other way. He takes a huge breath before spitting a column of flame directly at the now-dancing Jynx; it separates just before it hits her, and from the screen I can see a purple haze over her eyes. Lorelei nods approvingly as the fire finally dissipates and the Jynx stands with only a slight bit of charring along the bottom of her dress.  
  
"Give him an Ice Punch," Lorelei says calmly.  
  
The movement is effortless, and if I hadn't been staring at the Jynx's fist I never would have seen it: ice encrusts the Pokémon's hand and shoots out, a projectile weapon glittering icy white and pale purple. Jackson is only fast enough to avoid the brunt of the attack, but gets clipped right where his wing and shoulder meets. He roars, loud enough to drown out even the crowd, as steam simmers off his orange skin.  
  
"Flamethrower again!" True calls out.  
  
Jackson is only too happy to oblige. This stream of fire is messier, an impassioned attack rather than a calculated blow. But it hits the Jynx directly in the chest, and I watch with bated breath as she's thrown back onto the ice that sizzles with the blistering heat. Jackson is holding his shoulder, still steaming between his clawed hands, but growls triumphantly as his opponent is recalled in a flash of red.  
  
Only now that I've had a little time to breathe do I really hear the roar of the crowd. One of the other screens is panning across the stadium; people are waving banners with our names on them, cheering for True with smiles. I can't help but take a look at the opposite screen; if True has noticed, only the bright fire in her eyes gives her away.  
  
Lorelei has her arms folded across her chest now, and her lips are pursed. "You've done well to make it this far, True Fargone," Lorelei calls, and fingers one black-and-yellow ball from her jacket pocket. "This is my last Pokémon, my oldest and dearest friend. Are you ready to face her?"  
  
Is there an option to bow out at this point? I turn to True but she has both eyes trained on the final ball that soars from Lorelei's open hand, the gigantic form that solidifies in the free water. The curled ears, the thick neck, and the giant shell materialize. I am spellbound as recognition hits.  
  
There are cheers above us, around us as the Lapras raises her giant head to face the crowd with gentle eyes. Scars litter her deep blue skin and parts of her shell have been chipped, weathered by countless battles or maybe even time. Hyde would seem like a bush compared to this tall Pokémon.  
  
I might be half the size of the tallest spike on her shell. Maybe she can't even see me. I'd have to search long and hard for a trace of gentleness now; it's all been replaced by an icy clarity that pins me down, that pulls me forward onto the fractured battlefield. How could I have forgotten the chill of the ice in the five minutes of break? And how can I possibly think that I'm a match against this thing?  
  
"How would you feel about battling her?" True whispers.  
  
I turn to meet True right in the eye. She seems calm, though her hand is clenched in a fist that's tighter than usual. But she must see me looking because she smiles and nods her head. Later I will blame adrenaline for the strength to jump back onto the cold battlefield. The Lapras bows her elegant head and closes her eyes. I bow mine too. And then, on True's command, I fire.  
  
The weak jolt of electricity that seizes the Lapras's throat does no immediate damage, and yet she bellows as her body seizes. My self-protective want to paralyze the dangers in front of me—baby Jackson boy with a gun _Cassidy_ —now had a strategic use. I don't even feel fatigued as the Lapras lowers her neck. In defeat already?  
  
No. With a low chuckle she submerges below the surface. The Lapras blends in perfectly with the water, dark with the floor of the pool. To stay here or venture out? It isn't my decision but True's, and she's hesitating, I can see it on her magnified face. "Use—"  
  
Lorelei interrupts her. "Body Slam, Margerie."  
  
I only have a second to wonder how her Pokémon can hear her under the waves; the thought vanishes immediately as the Lapras, faster than she should be after a Thunder Wave, erupts upward. The icy water that hits me in the face is nothing compared to the terror of seeing her pale belly this close, and gaining closer. My icy platform shatters under just the suggestion of her weight; I don't even have enough time to scramble for solid purchase before Margerie's body pulls me under the waves.  
  
And if I had thought just being sprayed was bad, this muscle-numbing cold is a thousand times worse. More than Cerulean, too much like Seafoam Islands. I am flailing limbs and a struggle to keep conscious. If True calls for the Thunderbolt that rips from my body I don't hear it, but it lights up the darkness all the same. I hear the Lapras's great cry of surprise right before I break the surface and too-cold air races into my lungs. My fist is too wet to completely wipe the water out of my eyes, but Margerie doesn't look worse for wear.  
  
"Time out!" someone cries—and then my body doesn't feel like _my body_ anymore, but something other and less solid. Maybe it lasts a minute, an hour, a lifetime, but when I open my eyes True's face is impossibly close to mine, and the stadium is cheering for Margerie, who has swam back to the center of her pool.  
  
"I couldn't have gotten to you any other way," she says, and when I see my ball and a bottle of medicine in True's shaking hand I immediately understand. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."  
  
She crushes me against her chest, away from the microphone. I try not to zap her, but the electricity is burning underneath my skin and begging for a release. "Am I being recalled?" I croak.  
  
There's surprise in True's eyes when she pulls back to look me in the eye. "Do you… not want to be?"  
  
Who would True use if I refused? Jackson could easily get pulled under the waves and that would be _it_ for him. And an ice-type trainer would surely teach her "oldest and dearest friend" an ice-type move, Blizzard or Ice Beam or something else, which leaves Hyde out. My heart is thundering in my chest and I am still cold, so cold from the freezing water. But something's calling me on that battlefield. Margerie could be wearing Britt's face, teasing me to come finish what I started.  
  
Warmth flows through my limbs, separate from True's misting breath. I smell flowers. I think of fire, not destructive heat but a bonfire on a cold night. "Give me the medicine," I say.  
  
Surprise turns to cautious resolution as she pulls the spray bottle forward. Devon's Full Restore is almost magical in the way it heals me: I don't feel cold, the stiffness in my back is gone, and I am awake and alert. True brushes the tuft of fur on my head with a pinky as I jump out of her arms and back onto the battlefield; the crowd is cheering me and they seem louder than before, and that should be impossible but it isn't.  
  
Expectations are being defied on this battlefield, if I'm battling.  
  
Lorelei has a hand up to her lips, like she's deep in thought. "Interesting," she says. "Well then. Margerie, let's finish this with a Blizzard."  
  
Margerie's flurry of snow and wind is powerful as it shoots over me, a freezing gust that chills my bones. But I had just come out of the freezing waters; I have seen the Ice Titan. I'm gasping for breath but I am not defeated, not yet. Far from it.  
  
I don't care if I'm hallucinating Al's laughter. The warmth that floods through me is real.  
  
We have been emotionally close for so long, and I know True. I have seen her darkest nights and days, and she has seen mine. But I have never been this close to her, not in this way where our eyes are directed at the same goal, as in this moment. True's call and my response are separated only by heartbeats as the giant bolt of Thunder races and strikes at the Lapras. She bellows and thrashes her flippers, and the water in the pool ripples violently. I'm taken to the far edge and fire again, with a voice that doesn't sound like mine. The arc of lighting slips into the water, not a direct hit but painful enough judging by the Lapras's low grunt of pain.  
  
"Wrap this up with another Body Slam!"  
  
"Thunderbolt, go!"  
  
Neither of us move right away; Margerie looks as though she's finally being affected by the paralysis, and even after the Hyper Potion there's a weariness in my muscles. The Lapras is slow in her approach toward me, her breathing labored. But she has to charge over here to attack me—I only have to take a breath and release.  
  
Light flashes and illuminates the water; I feel the backlash of it and cut off with a wince. The water stills as Margerie takes the brunt of the attack, little ribbons of electricity flickering over her body. We both look up at each other, heaving and bent low. Which one of us will fall first? It's getting hard to breathe in the cold, the colors are starting to blur at the edges. But I see Margerie look down at me and smile approvingly before, with a long and weary sigh, she lowers her head to the water.  
  
I don't think I realize what has happened until the Lapras dissolves in a flash of red, until the screen flashes with True's awe-stricken face and Lorelei's contented nod. Just moments ago I had been weary, but now the pounding and screaming of the audience has come flooding in, thrumming in time with my heartbeat; I am only half aware of my feet pivoting on the broken bits of ice and flying up and into the waiting arms of True.  
  
If the cameras are whirling around us trying to take the key photo, I am unaware of them. I am aware only of True's arms wrapped around me, not in fear or yearning but in ecstasy and silent, disbelieving strength, and of the doors closing behind us as we head back into the circular room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Casey Thunder MISS, Dewgong Rest//Casey Thunder, Dewgong Super Potion//Casey Thunderbolt, Dewgong FAINT_  
>  Casey Thunderbolt, Cloyster FAINT  
> Hyde Mega Drain, Slowbro Withdraw//Hyde Mega Drain, Slowbro FAINT  
> Jackson Flamethrower, Jynx FAINT  
> Casey Thunder Wave, Lapras Body Slam//Casey Thunderbolt MISS, Lapras Body Slam/ PARZ//Casey Full Restore, Lapras Blizzard//Casey Thunder, Lapras Paralyzed//Casey Thunderbolt CRIT, Lapras FAINT 
> 
> All of my notes look like this /sob. But this is mostly the important stuff anyway, right?
> 
> So most of this fight was pretty easy, as you can see. AI is dumb and item use depends on speed, which is gr8 when your main attacker is a super speed demon. Now you may be wondering to yourself, _what the heck was Washi thinking letting a Pikachu get in on so much Elite Four action? Especially that Lapras?! It's a Pikachu! She's running starter death clause!!_ And those are all very good wonderings. I wondered some of them myself when I was looking over these notes to plan this arc. I did the gameplay way before I solidified Casey's character, and honestly I wasn't comfortable about sending in Hyde against ice-type Pokemon, good Special stat be damned. But hey, it all turned out okay in the end so no complaints, right?


	81. Chapter Seventy-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

I’d been able to catch my breath in the tunnel; now, as we make our way into the circular room, it’s a matter of fighting off the worst of the shakes. I bury my nose into the furry collar of True’s jacket and breathe deep, no doubt leaving water in the faux fur.  
  
I don’t recognize Jackson as the flash of light from his Poke Ball, but instead as a wave of heat that washes over True and I. He leans his head against True’s lap, and I come down to snuggle against the warm skin. At first he flinches from my touch, and I wonder if I’ve shocked him, but he meets my eye and says, “You’re cold.”  
  
“Don’t take i-ice baths,” I stutter.  
  
“Just don’t take baths ,” he retorts, and settles down on the ground with a sigh. “Did we make it?”  
  
True and Jackson share a few words; I don’t pay attention to them, the heat demands too much of my attention. I do sneak a peek around the room. It doesn’t even matter that we’re the last ones to make it back, if we actually _made it_. Gary doesn't seem to have even noticed us, or maybe he had and had gone back to staring at his Pokedex. But the Ninetales lounging on the floor beside him is staring at us with narrowed brown eyes, and puffs a little cloud of smoke in my direction. He had a name, Cassidy had told me. Why can’t I remember it?  
  
Carlotta looks up from spraying a Hyper Potion on Heron the Pidgeot, who eyes us with a curious, hazy glance. "How'd it go for you?"  
  
"Uh, fine," True says, and settles into the nearest arm chair. "And you?"  
  
"The Hitmonchan landed a lucky hit," the woman says. "Otherwise, Bruno wasn't much of a challenge."  
  
Does that mean we shouldn’t worry? Is she trying to psyche us out? From the corner of my eye I see True narrow her eyes as she lounges back in the chair. “I’m glad your Pidgeot is okay.”  
  
Heron opens his beak to speak, but Carlotta interrupts him with a simple, “He’s had worse. We’ll be fine.”  
  
It should be impossible for strangers to stay in a room together for hours and hardly talk to each other, but that’s exactly what happens. Trainers tend to the wounds of us Pokemon, and we in turn tend to them with words of encouragement. If there is any talk of strategy it is kept to quiet whispers that don’t travel the room—after all, what if another contestant heard? Gary is especially distrusting of his fellow challengers, forming a perfect huddle with his team and speaking only by moving his lips. They probably don’t need to speak out loud, when they have Michaela with them.  
  
We’re given a small lunch courtesy of the League: sandwiches and little bags of chips for the contestants and bowls of Pokechow for us Pokemon. Though there’s still some distance between the three battling teams, we do come together, munching away without speaking. I eat my portion slowly, not because it tastes bad but because it hurts to swallow, after falling in the pool and screaming my head off in battle. Hyde and Jackson don’t seem to have this worry. Julian eats slower than I do; he’s so transfixed on the room around us that he pauses for minutes on end, taking in his surroundings with wide, weary eyes. It takes a few joking words from Hyde to get him to focus on his meal, but the haunted look doesn’t quite leave him.  
  
A familiar smell pulls me away from staring at the giant Nidoking, and I turn to see Cassidy sitting beside me with her bowl of half-eaten food by her paws. “Mind if I sit here?”  
  
I shake my head and make a little more room for her to sit, as if there isn’t plenty of space available. She settles down with a long stretch, more collapsing than resting beside me. The weary look I’d seen earlier has faded a bit, given way to a new unease. “You okay?”  
  
“I’m okay,” she says, and takes a small bite from her food. “We trained really hard last night, and I didn’t sleep well.”  
  
The only reason I haven’t crashed yet is because I’m running on pure adrenaline; even now, with food in my belly and warm bodies around me, Ive managed to fight off the worst of the weariness from last night’s adventuring. “You’ll just have to sleep good tonight.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, and rests her head on her paws.  
  
I find myself wanting an apple, and this room to be the bank of our river. “You’re… sure you’re okay?”  
  
“Nervous, is all,” she whispers.  
  
I push my bowl of food aside to rest on the floor beside her—not too close, we’d have to both move to make our noses touch. I can’t think of the words that might comfort her. _Don’t be nervous, you’ll make it, everything will be just fine_ , they’re all lies. Nothing ends up fine in the Indigo Plateau. I’d learned that a long time ago.  
  
“You don’t have to fight,” I say gently. “You just—”  
  
“It isn’t a bad thing,” she says firmly, and looks up at me. “Being nervous keeps you focused, remember? I just have to trust Gary, and he’ll lead me through.”  
  
Her last word lifts up at the end, like she wants to ask a question but is afraid of the answer. I look up at Gary, who’s staring at the wall while taking tiny bits of his sandwich. “He’s definitely… focused,” I say. “But that isn’t what I’m…”  
  
“You don’t have to,” she says, and closes her eyes. “Everything’s going to be just fine. You’ll see.”  
  
And even in this room, with the eyes of the living and the dead on us, I can see it. If I can push away the worst of the doubt there will be a foolish sort of hope, an enviable assurance that all will be right with the world.  
  
Maybe I’m not pushing hard enough.  
  
We sit there together for a while in silence, until I realize that Cassidy has fallen asleep. Her Ninetales teammate walks away from his place at Gary’s feet, and I take that as my cue to leave her. When I turn to check on Cassidy he’s standing guard protectively over her, his tails curled and softly glowing at the ends. It is a silent warning that I heed, jumping back into True’s lap. She’s long finished her sandwich but is still picking at the chips; there are crumbs caught in the front laces of her shirt. Julian looks up beside her with interest in his eyes. “Who’s that Vaporeon you were talking to?”  
  
I wait a few seconds for someone to make a snarky comment, but no one does. There’s a teasing gleam in Britt’s eyes, but that’s it. “A good friend,” I say.  
  
“Hope I don’t have to battle her.”  
  
“I want to,” Jackson says from the back of the chair.  
  
“No one’s battling anyone right now,” True says softly.  
  
And what about later?  
  
There’s another good fifteen minutes of silent restlessness; wrappers are thrown away, bits of Pokechow are gobbled up or swept out of sight by well-meaning tails and fingers. The trainers continue to murmur plans to themselves and their teammates; even True, curled up in her chair with Sherri’s jacket wrapped tightly around her, stays to herself. We talk less about strategy and more about the training techniques we had done: barrel rolls and precise aiming, washing the battlefield in fire.  
  
We only look up when a tinny voice on the intercom says, “ _We will now begin the second round of the Elite Four challenge. Trainers, please recall your Pokemon and prepare for battle._ ”  
  
One by one my teammates disappear in flashes of red. Carlotta stands by herself, brushing bits of food off her long skirt and threading her fingers through her long hair. Gary is standing up and bouncing restlessly on the heels of his feet; to my great surprise, Cassidy is at his side, stretching after her unexpected nap.  
  
With bated breaths, we watch as the screens flicker with faces before freezing with another ring of the bell. It seems to take longer for them to reveal their order, a few more heartbeats than last time, but finally they stop: the smoking eye for Carlotta, the curled dragon for Gary, the double-fisted door for us.  
  
We're learning the routine now; even before the automated voice commands them to, the three trainers stand right in front of their doors. Again, they whisper open, and again Carlotta is the first to go through. Gary and True both hesitate in front of their open doors.  
  
“Good luck,” True offers.  
  
Gary closes his eyes. “We don’t need luck.” He takes a deep breath, and nods before leading the way through his door. Cassidy is just steps behind him, is just about to disappear from sight, before I call her name. I don’t think I realize I’ve done it before she lifts her head, eyes still facing the dark tunnel and her trainer, but her ears are perked and her shoulders are tense, so I know she’s listening.  
  
“Come back,” I say.  
  
I catch only a flash of Cassidy’s eyes, narrowed in fierce determination, before she follows after Gary.  
  
“Stay with me,” True says. Her shoulders are shaking underneath me, her breathing is shallow. I take a deep breath and nod, leaning against her as she pursues the end of her own tunnel.  
  
We don’t feel cold. The tunnel is almost warm, dank and dark save for the light of a few torches. For a moment I’m reminded of the Saffron Underground, and think that Sed the Rhydon will be just inches ahead of us. There’s a gentle tick-tick of water dripping down the damp walls, but otherwise it is just our footsteps and breathing.  
  
And then True’s voice. “She’s going to make it.”  
  
Al was supposed to have made it, too, and look what happened.  
  
I don't think I'll ever get used to the roar of the crowd or this tightness in my throat. The giant screens show the crowd on its feet—people have painted their faces in bold strokes, or caked dark shadows around their eyes. Even in November there are people in the stands without shirts, veins popping from skin. For a split second fear flickers through me—how are we supposed to perform in front of these people? I may not be battling but I'm still wary of them.  
  
True seems confident though, and that's what matters. The fighting-type master is already waiting on his podium when True steps up to fasten her microphone to the end of her ruffled shirt. Every screen reflects his shirtless chest and a wide grin. The Machoke who stands at his side doesn't look up at us, seemingly more concentrated on her hands than at the going-ons of the stadium crowd around her. He lifts his hands and for a moment I think he's about to flex as he welcomes us—but before my very eyes his massive hands begin to fly in front of him, contorting and dancing without any warning.  
  
I've only seen sign language be used a few times, always out of the corners of my eyes. Bruno had only been named to the Elite Four a few years ago, long after I'd stopped watching the competition, and the aides in the lab would always stop talking about League events when I came into the room. His hands move more elegantly than I would have expected, judging from his brawny physique and his oiled muscles. Only a few seconds pass before a deep voice booms from the speakers, each word precise and enunciated. " _Challenger, welcome to my arena! Will you battle me?_ "  
  
The Machoke’s lips don’t move; there must be a human interpreter somewhere in this stadium, with a clear view of Bruno and his hands. I'm far more fascinated by the lazy slope of Bruno's smile than I am at True's nod and her verbal challenge, or the Onix that appears with Bruno's determined throw. Even Hyde, who materializes with a flash of white and an excited gleeful outburst, can’t pull my eyes away.  
  
But maybe that’s for the best. It only takes one cry of "Mega Drain" and a flash of green light for the Onix to fall. The stone snake falls hard on the ground, with all of his jaw intact. The impact vibrates through True’s body and into the pads of my feet, and I have to suppress a shudder.  
  
" _That's good!_ " the voice says. I only catch the tail end of Bruno's moving hands before he recalls his Pokemon. The smile on his face stretches still further as another ball is thrown.  
  
Our next opponent solidifies with both gloved hands punching in rhythm, as though he was trying to imitate his trainer. The Hitmonchan doesn't turn to face us but instead looks up at the screen to meet eyes with Bruno for one moment; the two share a nod before turning to face the both of us. Ice and fire begin to duel for dominance over the red rubber gloves as the Punching Pokemon steps forward, dancing on the balls of his heels.  
  
"Uhhh, I really don't want to get punched by that thing," Hyde says. "Can I go back now?"  
  
Have Hyde's words been amplified too, or is that his psychic voice fluctuating out of control? Either way, laughter is ringing around the stadium. I catch a glimpse of the Machoke at Bruno's side touching his arm and then moving her hands around. Whatever she's said amuses him, because his bellowing guffaws rumble into the din.  
  
True, slightly red in the face, nods as she recalls Hyde. It only takes her a moment to choose her next Pokemon. Clara erupts from the burst of white light with a throaty cry and a flash of her wings before rising up above our heads, circling in the sky.  
  
"Wait for the perfect moment!" True cries out.  
  
The three of us watch as the Hitmonchan races toward True and I. He pivots on a dime, his back toward us. My eye is drawn to Bruno, who nods in approval even as Clara finally begins her descent. The screen on the side has a close-up of Bruno's gleaming chest and steady hands: one hand jumps a few inches up his chest, and the other punches decisively. The Hitmonchan nods, and his fist begins crackling with electricity that I can feel even here.  
  
The two attacks collide with dual cries. Even when being hit with a super-effective attack, Clara seems the better off of the two. Wind zips along her long beak, and she stabs it decisively into the Hitmonchan's shoulder. Blood sprays in a fine mist. The Hitmonchan pushes away and crosses its arms in a giant 'x'. He is recalled in a flash of red.  
  
Clara lifts her head up and winks at the two of us, but I can't help but stare at the blood staining the tip of her beak and threaded throughout her head feathers. She must notice because she brings up one great wing to wipe what she can off. But now the splotch of red has grown into a big ugly smear, and that’s almost worse because I can’t _not_ see it, and the longer I stare the harder I have to fight to not vomit on True’s shoulder.  
  
"Not so rough," True says, and furrows her brow. Clara wipes her beak again, and this time is able to remove more of the blood; it isn't as noticeable on the dark feathers on her wings, and I can breathe again. She nods.  
  
" _Your Fearow is stronger than I thought it'd be,_ " the speaker voice says, drawing our attention to Bruno. He is no longer smiling. Somewhere between Clara's victory and Bruno's not-speech he must have called out his next fighter, because standing in the place of the just-defeated Hitmonchan is a dark-skinned Hitmonlee who shifts his stance with the longest legs I've ever seen. I try to follow the movement of Bruno's hands, but every motions bleeds into the next; I have to pay attention to the spoken words to understand the meaning of his movements. " _Bruce should be a better opponent._ "  
  
True takes a deep breath before turning to Clara. "Are you okay to keep going?"  
  
Clara scoffs and waves her bloody beak triumphantly, to the crowd's pleasure. She climbs back up into the sky without a hitch; save the light charring of a few chest feathers and the static in the air, I can't even tell that she'd been hit at all.  
  
As wind begins to zip around Clara's beak again, Bruno slams his feet into the podium twice. Bruce the Hitmonchan doesn't even nod before he also jumps into the sky —higher up even than Clara, who shrieks with alarm. The fighting Pokemon's elastic legs snap back into shape as he falls, faster and faster and faster until he collides with Clara between the shoulder blades. Her screech is deafening—I chance a glance to Bruno, who seems less bothered by the sound than he does at the sight of the two dueling Pokemon crashing to the ground. But Clara arches her head back and hits the Hitmonlee with a Drill Peck; there's no sign of new blood, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Clara is shaky in her ascent back into the skies, but the Hitmonlee just groans and makes the same 'x' sign as his teammate.  
  
How can she lift her head and beat her wings to the roar of the crowd? Is this group of people louder than mine had been, or is she also blocking out their cries for blood? She doesn't seem fazed by the lights and buzzing cameras and giant screens at all--if anything she seems more energized the longer the battle draws on. I know that Clara has been in many more fights, ones with actual crowds to cheer her on. Maybe she does hear the noise and it just doesn't faze her.  
  
Maybe, like most Pokemon who find themselves battling in the Pokemon League, just loves the thrumming in her bones of a battle well-fought, the adrenaline born from thrill-seeking.  
  
But even Clara falters slightly when Bruno's fourth Pokemon appears, another mighty Onix. True's hand is already on her ball to recall her when she turns to face us, and as she's absorbed in the red light I see a hint of a smile. True looks down at the gleaming ball in her hand, nods to herself, and then throws. When I see the stocky figure forming I think she's sent out Britt, but the light fades to intimidating spikes and a powerful tail. Julian's head whips all around the stadium, the flashing lights and the roar of the crowd—and before my very eyes I see him lean close to the ground, his ears pinned back.  
  
True's eyes widen. "Are you okay?"  
  
The cameras don't have to be close to the battlefield to catch the action; they can zoom in and pick up details from the tops of the stands. When I look up to the right-most screen the picture is focused entirely on Julian's hesitant face, on the mad flickering of his eyes as he tries to take in the sights and sounds around us. I can't even tell if he can hear True repeatedly calling his name; has it been drowned out by the echoing in his own head, some other fear?  
  
"Call him back," I whimper.  
  
Somewhere in this arena there’s a camera that’s zooming in to focus on Julian's ball, held in a vice grip in True's shaking hand. Julian must see this because he roars—not Jackson's battle cry or Clara's victorious shrieks, but a resounding _no_ that vibrates through my bones. He whips his head around and shakes it violently, throwing his arm out away from him. "I can do this!" he yells.  
  
True's taken aback, and I stop breathing. Not one member of our team, here or otherwise, has spoken out on the battlefield like this. I am very aware of the cameras all turning to us, zooming in on our shocked faces, the hard rope of Julian's brow above his fearful eyes. I know what _should_ be done—recall Julian, send in Britt or even Hyde to deal with the Onix, and then consult Julian later—but I'm not the trainer. True is.  
  
"One shot," she whispers, and though her hand is still on his ball she lowers it.   
  
Julian nods his head vehemently and turns to the Onix. My eyes go straight to Bruno, who doesn't betray a flicker of emotion as he catches my eye. His hands come up to his chest, open hands that clench into fists in one swift, powerful motion. The Onix lifts its tail—  
  
"Ice Beam!"  
  
And is struck instead by a beautifully precise jet of ice. It's an attack that Lorelei would have been proud to see come from her Pokemon. What looks like mist seeps out from Julian's mouth as he ends the attack, raising his ears. The Onix doesn't even have time to grumble before it falls to the ground, another rumbling through my paws. Usually a defeated Pokemon would excite the crowd, but now there's only a dull murmuring.  
  
Wordless, shaking, True recalls the Nidoking. She closes her eyes and takes a shaking breath; it's my cue to press more firmly against her neck and nuzzle the side of her face. Any spoken reassurance will surely be caught by the tiny microphone, and I'd bet anything that the crowd is leaning forward in their seats, hoping to sneak a peek on this private thing. _It can wait until later,_ I would say to her, _right now you have a match to win._  
  
And when she nods and smiles against me, I know she understands.  
  
Bruno and True throws their balls as one united wave of motion. I'm not surprised to see Clara materialize from our side; she doesn't seem to be either, judging by the determined set of her eyes. Bruno's final Pokemon is a pumped up version of the Machoke at his side, with an added pair of arms for good measure. The Machamp looks up to the screen and throws a few signs of his own, which make the Machoke and Bruno laugh, before turning to face the three of us with a smile on his beak-like mouth.  
  
It takes True a moment to say the word, but by the time True has shouted "Fly!" the Fearow has already climbed fifty feet, is circling through the open air with an effortless grace. The Machamp stuck on the ground below can only furrow its brow and snarl—an intimidating display, but one that Clara takes no heed of. Rather than aiming with her sword-like beak, she blows the Machamp back with the blunt side of her wing.  
  
But even without the clenched command from Bruno's fists, I know just what is about to happen.  
  
Though the Machamp is visibly worn by the powerful attack, all four of its massive hands are quick to pin Clara down to the ground. It's one thing to carry a full-grown trainer on your back, given some momentum; it's quite another for the full weight of a heavy battle-trained Pokemon to push down on your wings. Clara's shrieks pierce my ears and I back down into True’s shoulder. If she notices, she’s too focused on trying to get a better angle to look at; from her place in the stands we can only see the wide expanse of the Machamp’s chest and shoulders, and from the screens there is only a look of pure panic in Clara’s eyes.  
  
Even a direct hit from Drill Peck isn’t enough to completely release her; though the Machamp squirms and grits his teeth, he doesn’t let go of his prey. I watch a little black camera zoom down to angle itself underneath the Machamp’s face: one of the screens is flooded with nothing more than the four-armed battler’s eyes, pupils dilated and glimmering.  
  
If he’s attacking with Leer, he’s planning something big.  
  
“ _Will you change Pokemon,_ ” a male voice asks over the intercom, “ _or continue?_ ”  
  
No mention of forfeiting, then. I watch a screen split itself in two again: Bruno’s quiet, curious face, paired with True’s slightly panicked, wide-eyed one. The two stare at each other for a little bit until, with a look of fierce determination, True bites out, “Drill Peck again!”  
  
I hadn’t been watching Clara. That was a mistake.  
  
The Machamp and the Fearow are moving too vigorously for me to see everything that’s happening, but with a loud shriek the Machamp suddenly leans back, his two right arms drooping at his side. Blood is flowing from the deep puncture wound on his shoulder, and the very first thing I think is _paralyzed_. The Machamp, suddenly unbalanced, falls to the ground; and Clara, newly freed, escapes to the air again with a victory screech.  
  
Blood is pooling on the tile. And I will give the Machamp this, where other Pokemon—maybe even his own teammates—would have fallen right there, he is able to stand up. His two left arms are held up high above his head, like he's trying to compensate for the uselessness of his other side. Clara looks down challengingly with another caw, and for a second I think he’s about to take up her challenge. But with a furrowing of his brow, he turns to Bruno and shakes his head, clumsily making an ‘x’ with his two functioning hands.  
  
Clara doesn’t even flinch as the crowd roars up onto its feet, cheering and screaming her name. Maybe they’ve done something to the battlefield so that the dueling Pokemon can’t hear the cries from the crowd. I had heard only a fraction of the noise that now collides in my head. True’s eyes are bright and glistening when she lifts her head to face Bruno. He bows his head low in reply before lifting his hands for silence. The sudden hush of the crowd is mesmerizing.  
  
" _You did well to come here and beat me,"_ the voice says— _Bruno_ says, really. " _Enjoy your evening rest. You have earned it._ "  
  


* * *

  
The first thing Britt had done when we’d been teleported back to our room after a second victorious battle was turn the television on to the Battle Network, which was playing highlights from the six matches of the day.  
  
“And there she goes— _owwww_ , right in the shoulder!” Hyde cries.  
  
“Good hit,” Britt laughs. “Bet he doesn’t get attacked there very often.”  
  
It turns out that the cameras had gotten a good shot of the attack after all. It's no wonder that I hadn't been able to see it, watching it live: Clara’s beak had found the tiny spot between the Machamp’s neck and shoulder, where she must have hit a nerve to paralyze his right side. From this angle you can clearly see his teeth as he roars in pain, before falling to the ground.  
  
They must play that clip at least three times.  
  
Hyde, Jackson, and Britt all chatter amongst themselves, pointing out key bits of strategy and talking with the voice-over referees like they’re in the room with us. Clara sits beside them, suddenly the newest star. I’m grateful for it; Hyde had been equally impressed with my battle against the Lapras, though he hadn’t been as vocal. But just like in the stadium Clara seems pleased with the amount of attention she’s getting, and playfully reenacts the attack on Jackson.  
  
“Careful not to knock anything over,” I say.  
  
“Killjoy,” Britt taunts. “Stick around, they might play your clip again next.”  
  
No thanks. I leave them in the living room and make my way to the kitchen—or I start to, until I see True and Julian sitting on the back porch. The door has been cracked open, letting a steady stream of chilly night air into the house; it’s too heavy for me to push open wider, or even to close it, so I let it be and make my way slowly toward them.  
  
“…Brighter than I had ever imagined,” Julian is saying. One of his giant ears twitches and he turns to me, eyes wide and weary and too much like Cassidy’s. “I thought since we went to the stadium last night I’d—”  
  
“Stadium?” True asks sharply, and turns to me. I guess she had heard me come outside after all. “Is that why you were so tired this morning? You went out without me?”  
  
Shame is something I’m not accustomed to feeling with True, not outside of battle. My ears lower and I turn my head away. “It started as just a walk to clear my head. I couldn’t sleep, and Julian wanted to come.”  
  
“I thought if I’d seen it I wouldn’t be as nervous, but that stadium was louder and brighter than I thought it’d be… it won’t happen again,” Julian finishes.  
  
True runs a hand down the side of her face, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Thanks for telling me. But maybe tonight if you can’t sleep, just… let me know?”  
  
I kick at a stray rock with my paw, and watch it sail into the grass. “We didn’t want to wake you.”  
  
“Wake me up,” she says firmly, and opens her arms. I jump into them and press my nose against her collarbone. “And Julian, I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you more. I didn’t think it was going to be that bad, but…”  
  
“I’ll be okay now,” the Nidoking repeats. “Besides, we only have two more battles to go.”  
  
True nods. “I don't think we'll need you for Agatha, but Lance—”  
  
“ _Casey’s girlfriend is on the TV !_ ” Hyde shouts, and the words ring in my ears and my head.  
  
True lifts her brow and offers her hand to the Nidoking. He follows her hesitantly into the house, being very careful not to hit anything. And sure enough, once we head into the living room the television screen is flooded with Cassidy’s face—Cassidy firing beams of brilliantly-white ice from her gaping mouth. The screen flashes from different parts of the battle, showing off different opponents, but the effect is the same: each giant, towering beast, dragons and ancient fossils alike, fall at the feet of a Vaporeon who does not look tired, just confident.  
  
“Fucking swept Lance’s entire team,” Britt breathes. “Guess you know how to pick a good one.”  
  
We had never been able to watch Gary’s battles on the Battle Network; we spent too much time training or watching movies, trying to divorce ourselves from the world around us. I had seen her train in the years before our journeys had started, but that had been before she had been on an official Battling team; I had seen her fight in Silph Tower, but she had been confused and so unlike herself; and I had seen her training with me, but she had always held herself back.  
  
“ _I think that Vaporeon might have set a record for fastest sweep of an Elite Four member. Just look at the power in those Ice Beams! Lance’s dragons are strong but if you throw any sort of chill at them, they’re heading back for their dens!_ ”  
  
“ _I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to watch it live, Mitch. A fantastic showing from Gary Oak and his Starter Pokemon!_ ”  
  
“ _You know, Trish, I wouldn’t be surprised if that kid won this entire thing, with power like that._ ”  
  
Part of me knows that these clips have been edited to deliver the biggest punch to the gut; part of me knows that we probably shouldn’t even be watching this at all. But there is something achingly familiar in Cassidy’s fluid motions, the in-the-moment confidence that sings with her every step and fire of her Ice Beam.  
  
“ _Neither would I, Mitch. But for now we turn to Aiden, who has more information on the resignation of High Champion Chris Mancon. Now Aiden…_ ”  
  
As Lance’s final Pokemon falls and the camera zooms on Cassidy’s grinning face, I yearn for my guitar; when the camera zooms on Gary, horribly confident, I think of Chris’s picture in that circular room and feel my stomach fall to my feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hyde Mega Drain, Onix FAINT_  
>  Clara Fly, Hitmonchan Thunderpunch MISS//Fly HITS, Hitmonchan X Defend//Clara Drill Peck, Hitmonchan FAINT  
> Clara Drill Peck, Hitmonlee FAINT  
> Julian Ice Beam, Onix FAINT  
> Clara Fly, Machamp Leer MISS//Fly hit, Machamp Leer MISS//Clara Drill Peck, Machamp FAINT 
> 
> Carlotta wasn't kidding when she said that Bruno wasn't much of a challenge. I flubbed some attacks in-chapter because an outright defeat isn't fun for anybody, but yeah. No one took any damage this round, which of course I was thankful for.
> 
> Some fun character developing things happen in this chapter. I'd imagine going from the very wild Route Twenty-Three to the very loud, very human-populated Indigo Plateau would fray anyone's nerves, but thankfully Julian has a very understanding trainer and team behind him that will help him succeed. :)
> 
> Up next on Wonderwall: some ghosts!


	82. Extra Six: From the Stack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

_29 AUGUST_  
  
Dear Sherri,  
  
I think the last time I handwrote a letter was when people were still relying on carrier Pidgey, so this is sort of new for me. Like an email, but with a physical copy. I haven't used my PC storage system as much as I probably should be, since my backpack is so big. I usually call people? But this is nice. And calling you probably wouldn't make sense since you work such long hours, and I don't want to accidentally wake you up. So I hope this works.  
  
I got home okay. Thank you for telling me about the rent-a-flight service, we made it from Saffron to Pallet in only a day. I knew that Pidgeot were really fast but I didn't expect them to be _that_ fast. It felt weird to fly on a Pokemon that wasn't mine. I mean I'd had lessons in trainer's school, but this felt different. Or maybe I've just gotten used to flying on Clara.  
  
She's going to be fine by the way, I just can't battle with her and she has to be careful when she's moving around. Something about the way that Psychic attack hit her did something with her nervous system. The nurses gave me a sheet full of exercises to do with her to make sure the damage isn't permanent. I took her outside, just the two of us. We didn't do the exercises, but we talked. Or, I talked. A lot. She listened and didn't hurt me, though I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.  
  
But anyway, she's fine and I'm fine. Pallet Town hasn't changed as far as I know but it feels different. Everything feels different and I don't know if that's just what happens after a trainer's journey or if something about me has changed. I feel like I've changed. I didn't want to come home until I'd gotten all of my badges, but here I am. And it isn't even home and—  
  
I'm talking a lot about myself for this being a letter. So. I'm going to be at the lab until I can figure out what I'm going to do about everything. If you want to write me back, I'll be here.  
  
And congratulations on the job! I don't know why they'd make a hire for a costume keeper just a few weeks before you start showing it to people but what do I know?  
  
True.  
  
PS I wasn't in the best place when you found me but I just really wanted to say thank you for everything. You said you didn't think you were helping but you really, really did. I should have put that first but… anyway.  
  


* * *

  
_3 SEPTEMBER_  
  
True—  
  
I finally upgraded to a PC a few months ago with some of the money that the League gave me for the Silph takeover. And it's helped so much! I can store so much of my material inside and access it from the theater. It's sort of weird when you think about it, being able to digitize a bike and then retrieve it from anywhere. But you can do the same thing to Pokemon, too. It makes me dizzy just thinking about it. I think I still prefer sending mail by Pidgey, though Preston has spent so long as my letter-sending lackey that I think he's glad for the break. But this way we'll be able to talk to each other much more quickly, and that's always a good thing!  
  
I'm so glad you made it home safely! I've always wanted to visit Pallet Town, at least for a day or two. And Viridian, now that I think about it. I've never been able to do it though; the only way there from Vermilion and Saffron is to either take the Diglett's Tunnel or a rent-a-flight, but those both cost money if you don't have strong Pokemon to protect you. Now I have some money and Preston's strong enough to intimidate the weaker Pokemon in the forest and through the tunnels, but with the play and everything I have no time. Funny how that works, isn't it? Maybe when the railroad is finished it will be easier to visit, but I hear it's still taking a while, especially with the Indigo Challenge coming up.  
  
Did I tell you that I spent a few years in Johto as a kid? My aunt was an assistant to the Kimono Girls in a city there called Ecruteak, and she invited me to stay. I think she thought I needed to see a part of the world that wasn't so high-tech, and my grandma agreed. It was strangely peaceful there, especially after the hustle-and-bustle of Saffron. The trees always seemed to have this golden tint to them, even in the spring when the Cheri blossoms were sprouting. They do a lot of traditional theater there, mostly with the Kimono Girls, if you can believe it. It's coming in strangely handy for the play. The director wants to bring some of the design elements from the Kimono Girls into their show. I'm not sure how Kanto audiences will respond to a gijinka-style play, but I guess we'll see. If nothing else it'll be something to put on my resume.  
  
I've been thinking about Ecruteak a lot lately, and not just because of work. I think my aunt had the right idea when she said it was good to get away from big city life. Maybe that's why I want to visit Pallet Town. Maybe when the play's finished previews and I'm finally able to take a rent-a-flight out there you can show me around?  
  
I'm glad to hear that Clara's going to be okay. I have no doubt that you'll be able to help her recover. How's the rest of the team? How's Casey? I don't know if there's anything I could do to help, but if there is just let me know!  
  
(And it was no problem, honestly. You're my friend and I want to make sure you're okay, too. I think a break from battling will be really good for you.)  
  
Sherri  
  


* * *

  
_5 SEPTEMBER_  
  
Dear Sherri,  
  
I've always, _always_ wanted to go to Johto, especially Ecruteak. There's so much history in that region that I sometimes don't feel here. We have the stories about the legendary birds and Mew, and they're interesting, but it really isn't the same as Lugia and Ho-Oh and the Legendary Beasts and Celebi. It seems that the kids in the weekend cartoons are always stumbling over a legendary Pokemon, and I know cartoons aren't real life but I always had this expectation that I would stumble across something unreal, you know? Like I'd make this amazing discovery about the world and people would remember me as me instead of… anyway. You aren't missing much of Pallet Town, especially if you've been to Ecruteak. It's a lot of hills and farming. There are only a few interesting things in the city, just the docks and Professor Oak's lab and wandering through the woods. Maybe when the railroad is finished and you have some time I can sneak you in. I think the professor would like you.  
  
We've been doing a few more exercises and Clara already seems like she's doing better. There have been a few scares but the Viridian Pokemon Center has been really great about helping her. This time of the year they move some of the senior nurses from the other cities to Viridian, since more and more trainers come to battle the last gym and train for Victory Road, and that means worse injuries. I've been challenged more than once by them, but I just pretend I'm a novice trainer with just a few badges so they leave me alone. They must not watch a lot of the Battle Network because they don't really recognize me. I'm glad for it. It's been a week since Sabrina but I still don't think I'm ready to battle other trainers yet.  
  
Everyone's doing okay. We had a group meeting a few days ago where we just all talked together. It made me realize how much I really _don't_ know them. I've been able to talk to Pokemon since I was a kid and Casey's practically my best friend, but the rest of the team isn't Casey. I know their battling styles but like. Jackson still wants to find his mother who almost killed him in Cinnabar, Britt was a street Pokemon, I keep forgetting how much Hyde know about the world outside the Safari Zone, and I can't even begin to read Wilkes. I think I'll have to do more of these meetings, and talk with them more one-on-one. I haven't been doing that as much as I should be, it's just been me and Casey for the most part and that's not okay.  
  
But he and I did talk, and that's so much better than where we were when you saw me last. He was mad at me for leaving the gym, like he should be. And part of me thinks he understood but… I didn't even talk about the reason I ran. I told him I was afraid of Clara dying, which I was, and I told him I was going to take a break from training, which I am. I didn't tell him any of the stuff I told you, and normally I would have. But he's more than my friend now, he's someone I'm  responsible for and… I can't talk to him the way I used to, and that terrifies me. And now he's disappearing in the middle of the night. He always comes back smelling like dirt and the river. But he isn't coming back hurt so I shouldn't be worrying too much about him. But I am.  
  
I think we're going to be fine in the end, once I can figure out what "the end" is.  
  
I hope you're doing okay, too.  
  
True.  
  


* * *

  
_9 SEPTEMBER_  
  
True—  
  
I'm glad to hear that the two of you are talking again. I don't know Casey all that well but I know that he cares about you so, so much. Maybe the reason you didn't tell him about how you felt was that he already knew that you regret leaving them in the gym? If you feel like you still need to talk to him about it, I think you should. And I don't think you have to worry about him disappearing, if he's coming back healthy. Preston leaves the apartment all the time and he always comes back. I think he'd go mad if he had to be confined to the house all the time. Sometimes it's healthy to have space, you know?  
  
They're going to previews in a few weeks. We've been so busy making last-minute adjustments to the costumes and measurements that I've almost forgotten what my apartment looks like. I bought one of those inflatable mattresses that are popular with the local trainers and just sleep in the studio so I can make the most of my time. I know the end is in sight and it's exciting, but I could really use the sleep. Or at least a night out with the rest of the costume department. The director's a jerk and there are plenty of preeners in the cast, but the costume department has been amazing. They make it worth it.  
  
Maybe "the end" is something you didn't think it would be? I didn't think when I set up my shop in Vermilion that I'd be making costumes for Saffron theatre, or even involved with the League to bust Team Rocket. Maybe all of this is just a way to get you on that train to Ecruteak faster. :)  
  
Sherri  
  


* * *

  
_15 SEPTEMBER_  
  
Dear Sherri,  
  
I had a long talk with Britt and Jackson. They're my strongest battlers. Not just the strongest, they're the ones out of the team who live and breathe battling. Britt's done it all of her life, it's the reason she's so strong—even if it means she's a little closed off from the rest of the world. It's survival of the fittest for her. Jackson comes from a line of Charizard who are known to be powerful fighters, and after growing up around Kerri and Britt… I can't say I'm surprised, is what I'm saying. Britt was the one who did most of the talking. She said that stopping just before the finish line was not what she had in mind when she decided to join up with us, that she's had a dream of fighting in the Indigo Plateau since she knew what competitive battling even was. Jackson just likes fighting.  
  
It isn't like I have to fight the Elite Four once I get there, right? Or even go through Victory Road? I can just have all eight badges and say that that's enough. It's falling way short of the goal I had when I set out in May, to at least try and fight. But battling was still a theoretical then. I could lose someone against the Elite Four. I could lose  all of them. The gym is one thing, but the mountain and then the Indigo League… I don't know. I still need to think about it.  
  
Why does the one thing that makes me feel good about myself end up hurting my friends?  
  
True.  
  


* * *

  
_21 SEPTEMBER_  
  
Dear Sherri,  
  
It's been a while since I've heard from you. You must be in the final prep stages before previews for the play. I hope you're doing okay.  
  
The TM woman came back today, which means that the Championship season has officially begun. She's a tiny old thing who's been camping out in the city selling high-power TMs for as long as I can remember, but this is the first time I've had money and Pokemon of my own to buy them. Britt was with me and she seemed bewildered that there would be this old woman on the side of the road selling these powerful attacks. She thought they were fake and told the woman that, but she couldn't understand Britt. It would have been funny if Britt hadn't been my Pokemon, you know? But the woman brought out one of her pet Rattata, picked one of the Thunder TMs from her stock and taught it to her, and then challenged us to a battle. And I mean, Britt won, but I was so shocked that I didn't really command her. But it convinced Britt, who decided we needed to buy at least one copy of every TM she had. I only bought a few, but I was able to get some good ones—Blizzard for Britt, Psychic for Hyde, Earthquake for… someone, maybe Jackson, I don't think it's good for him to be Digging now that he has wings.  
  
It made me feel like a trainer again? Training with the team is one thing but being forced into a battle like that… I think I needed it, even if I didn't do much. Britt was definitely enjoying herself. I had another trainer challenge me to a one-on-one match, his Clefable against Britt, and somehow I won that battle, too. Britt got paralyzed but a quick trip to the Pokemon Center was enough to make her right as rain again. And when we were walking back to the lab and to the others, she thanked me for letting her battle against an opponent she hadn't fought a thousand times.  
  
They say that the more Pokemon battle the healthier they are, and I know that Britt lives for that thrill. But then I think of Casey, who's acting so weird but is studying us and even training with us a little bit, and I just get so confused. I'm not making him fight, he says he wants to learn so that he can help us if we decide to battle again. If  I decide to battle again.  
  
The horrible thing about it is, I want to.  
  
True.  
  


* * *

  
_26 SEPTEMBER_  
  
True—  
  
Don't have much time to write a long letter, just wanted to let you know that I'm here and I'm listening. Curtain goes up for previews in a few days. I can't feel my fingers for bandages.  
  
Sherri  
  


* * *

  
_29 SEPTEMBER_  
  
Dear Sherri,  
  
Take care of your fingers! You need those!  
  
I finally figured out where Casey is leaving at night. He's training with Cassidy. I told you about her, didn't I? She's Gary Oak's starter, a Vaporeon. She and Casey were really close before they became starter Pokemon—or, they still are? I think? He doesn't talk about her very much, but when he's around her he acts differently. He's shier and just acts nicer. The only time I see him like that is when I'm having a bad anxiety attack, he's kind of a jerk with the rest of the team. And I understand why, considering his history with battling and the High Champion. But he said that he was training so that he could actually help us in battle, and it caught me off guard. He trains with us in the daytime and a few times a week he goes down to the river with Cassidy. He's gotten so much stronger, too. Britt said something and he must have shocked her with a Thunderbolt (I was paying attention to Hyde and Wilkes; some all-knowing trainer I am, right?) because she actually looked hurt. I had to treat her with something and Britt  hates taking medicine. But it was weird to see him like that, sparking and angry. He looked like a battler.  
  
And I've seen photos of his brother, there are books in the library at Oak's Laboratory all about High Champion Chris Mancon and his starter from overseas. I don't know why I never made the connection before he told me. They have the same nose and freckles on their arms. They don't play the video from his match against the former High Champion because it's supposed to be so bad, so it must have been bad. But I remember watching it on the TV when I was a kid. There was fire everywhere and by the time it was gone and there was nothing left of Al… well, Mom cut the subscription the next day because I couldn't sleep, I was so terrified. I don't think I'd battle either, if that had been my brother.  
  
Which makes me wonder: why is he so adamant about training now? I'm scared to ask him.  
  
I have to go into Viridian City to schedule the gym appointment; the League has this thing where they sit down trainers with seven badges to discuss their options. I'm still not sure whether or not I'm going to be going through Victory Road, but if I have the badge I can at least make the choice, right? I feel like I need to have my options open, in case I change my mind.  
  
True.  
  
PS Casey says hi. He's going back out to train with Cassidy tonight. I almost want to follow him, but I don't know if that would make things worse.  
  


* * *

  
_31 SEPTEMBER_  
  
I saw my dad. He watched me battle. He watched me _win_. He's working in the Viridian Gym as a secretary, he checked me in and everything. At first when I saw him I thought he was going to be battling me himself, but I know that's silly—he's not allowed to own Pokemon anymore, never mind battle with them. He's coming home any minute. I'm the one who wanted to meet with him. I told my mom I'd have dinner with the two of them. I tried making small talk with my mom in the kitchen, and watching the Battle Network, but now I'm in my bedroom. And I'm trying really hard to breathe evenly. But it's so hard and I wonder if I made the right decision by staying here to talk to him. Writing this letter is helping calming me down.  
  
I thought long and hard about changing my name on my trainer's license. My mother never took his name when they got married, she's still Inza Retune. The professor would have let me. I think it would have been easier if I'd changed my name. A guard wouldn't let me go through the Saffron Underground by myself when we came to Vermilion, I had to have an escort. I could have dyed my hair purple and put contacts in my eyes and changed my name and no one would have recognized me. But I decided not to because my name and my hair is  mine and I shouldn't have to change everything because of him. I've changed enough.  
  
I keep thinking about the day my father was arrested and the day I saw him sentenced as a traitor to the region. And he was gone, just like that. I visited him the first time because I wanted to see him, he was my best friend other than Casey—and he was chained up and he looked like a criminal. And it wasn't until I saw him in the chains that I realized the truth, because even with the trial and the arrest I thought there was a way for this to be wrong. My dad talked to Pokemon! He ate tofu! They caught him on trespassing and theft charges and he could've just said he was a grunt but he didn't even deny that he was an admin, he'd planned the whole thing. He just let Agatha and the League officials she'd brought drag him off, and he stayed in that prison. And now he's out because he agreed to do a Spectre test, where Agatha's Pokemon puts you to sleep and looks through your memories. I've done it and it's horrible, your head doesn't feel like it belongs to you and it takes a while to sleep at night again. But he did it and then they let him out, because he gave them information that helped take down Team Rocket.  
  
Is there a reason he didn't fight to get—  
  
He's here.  
  
…  
  
He tried to apologize but it wasn't enough. He was gone for five years for doing horrible things. He left me and my mother alone. He did horrible things. And I want to hate him so, so much, for everything he's done and for making me so nervous all the time, because if he wasn't who he said he was is anyone genuine? I thought that a long time but people like Casey and the professor proved me wrong, and I am so thankful for them. But now I'm always wondering if I'm just unlucky. Do I choose people wrong? He said it wasn't that but god, I don't know what to believe anymore.  
  
That was the trigger that started these attacks, and sometimes they're just a little unsettling and othertimes it just shuts me down and I can't move it just… it happens whenever I feel stressed or nervous or really, really bad about myself. I've fought for so long Sherri and I'm a wreck. How the hell did I win eight gym badges? It's raining out here and I'm a wreck I  
  
I wish you were here. That probably makes me sound needy and I don't mean to be. But—  
  


* * *

  
_Written 28 SEPTEMBER. Received by Air Mail 1 OCTOBER._  
  
True—  
  
When you came back with me to my apartment after the Saffron Gym and asked if I remembered the final battle at Silph, I told you yes, I remembered bits and pieces. But I remember more than that. I remember all of it.  
  
More specifically, I remember being brought back down to the ground with the people from the League who couldn't fight anymore. Preston had just evolved, he had been protecting me from a grunt who'd gotten too trigger happy with his Ekans. We were down with the injured. A nurse had told me that Preston was going to be fine, but he'd need to be taken to the Pokemon Center. I watched my best friend teleported away by one of Sabrina's Abra after he'd risked his life to keep me safe.  
  
And you came flying down on Clara, and I knew it was you somehow without having to see it. I still don't know how. But you were looking for Casey, Jackson, and Minka, and Britt was at your side. She had that wild look in her eyes, and I recognized it because I felt it, down in my bones. You sent out your Haunter—I don't remember his name, I'm sorry—to find them. Someone tried to get you to sit down but you wouldn't.  
  
Do you remember any of this? Your Haunter came back saying that they had Minka and Jackson, but Casey was in trouble. And you didn't even say anything, you just looked to Britt who nodded and began glowing. She evolved, just like that, went from just reaching the top of your hip to being an inch taller than you. And she said nothing but she allowed herself to be recalled into her Poke Ball. You climbed right back onto Clara, and your Haunter hovered up to lead the way to where he'd seen Casey.  
  
I told you not to go. When you turned to me you had this look in your eyes and it was that fierce determination I usually only see in the people who win the Championship. It bowled me over. I couldn't imagine those eyes in your face, but there they were. We were still in that training garden where Vympel had found you out training the young recruits, but even though you were scared about your teammates—your  friends—you were… I don't know how to put it into words. You were different.  
  
You said, "If I was hurt, he wouldn't leave me."  
  
And even though it would have been safer for you to stay on the ground, to wait for Casey to come back, you left.  
  
I've never battled before, not professionally. Preston is my best friend but he doesn't have any desire to battle, not even now. And I don't want to battle. I've seen your Pokemon battle, but more importantly I've seen the way they look at you. You may not feel like you know them but I think they know you and they want to be with you. I know Poke Balls don't work that way, but I know you too, and I know if—in the most incredibly unlikely scenario—they did want to leave you'd let them.  
  
But the strength I kept seeing in your eyes when you worked with me in that tiny room, and when you made the decision to return to Casey and your Pokemon even though you could have walked away… that's more than a trainer's strength. That's something very, very special.  
  
People and Pokemon die, even when we don't want them to. But they don't just die in battle, you know? They die in construction accidents, from falling in the exactly wrong way. They die in attacks by terrorist organizations. Maybe I'm not the best person to be saying this, because I've never been a trainer and don't have to wrestle with this, but I think if you have a team with you who wants to try… well, maybe you should put your faith in them, the way they've put their faith in you.  
  
I have faith in you, too. We originally designed this for one of our actors, who was supposed to be a Vibrava. When the director decided to do a last minute costume change, I took it back to my studio and made a few adjustments so you could wear it instead. The fur is fake, we had some scrap left for our Persian. You probably have a jacket already but I thought you might like something new, just in case you do decide to take the Victory Run. Or even if you don't and just need a warm jacket.  
  
We're days away from our previews, but the city—the region, if I'm being honest—has already turned their attention to the Indigo Championship. With the way things are going we'll still have to rush to make preview week. Hopefully this way it'll feel like I'm there.  
  
I know you're going to make it. Promise me you'll stay safe.  
  
Thinking of you,  
  
Sherri  
  


* * *

  
_3 OCTOBER_  
  
Sherri—  
  
Everyone at the lab kept commenting on your jacket—and you're right, it's really warm. They all kept asking where I'd bought it and I told them I had a good friend make it for me. You might be getting commission letters any day now, and I feel like I should apologize for that. But not really. I was finally able to see the review of the play in today's paper. I don't know much about theater but it sounded like it's good. They had a lot to say about the costumes and how cool they were, and they liked how you didn't stick the actors into dresses but made the costumes more contemporary. They had a picture of the Vibrava and I think your director messed up by scrapping the jacket. But I guess I should be thankful, because otherwise I wouldn't have it.  
  
I don't know what I did to have someone like you in my life, but I'm really glad I do.  
  
True.  
  


* * *

  
_4 OCTOBER_  
  
True,  
  
Out of all the clothes shops in all of Vermilion you somehow didn't walk into mine. But I'm glad I was able to find you anyway.  
  
Sherri  
  


* * *

  
_OCTOBER 12_  
  
Sherri,  
  
We're leaving for Victory Road tomorrow.  
  
I don't know what's going to happen in Victory Road, or beyond, but my team has faith in me, and I have faith in them. We've spent a little bit of time training but mostly I've had them resting for the journey ahead. The trip down Route 23 is supposed to take a day at least, and that's if you leave early in the morning. I've already had a few encounters with the paparazzi in Viridian, just from buying supplies. If we can get through the gates by dawn we should avoid the worst of them.  
  
Thank you for everything you've done and all the encouragement. I wouldn't have made it through these past few weeks without these letters. Without you. Maybe when this is all over, when I've battled all I can and you aren't busy with the play anymore—and that has to be soon, right, how much work are you able to do?—we could go to Ecruteak. We could go on the boat from Vermilion to Olivine and just take the long way to Ecruteak. It's been a long, long time since I've taken a real vacation. It'd be fun to journey with you.  
  
You'll probably see all of it on the Battle Network, but I'll write you to let you know how I did.  
  
True.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the decision after the return to Pallet Town to scrap a number of chapters detailing the day-to-day training and notable events, mostly because Wonderwall is a) already super long, and b) because it would have slowed down the rapid-fire pace I wanted to establish. Also because the run's getting really really long. And there really wasn't much I could figure out how to say from Casey's perspective except "lol this happened and then this happened I'm learning how to battle! and then THIS thing..." And I think that's helped for a number of reasons. Casey's good at summarizing long stretches of time in a few words, so for him to suddenly dictate everything that happened really wasn't needed.
> 
> I've been weaving this thread of True and Sherri exchanging letters for some time now, and that lent itself very nicely to an extra. This is the first time we're really looking into True's head and seeing her as being separate from Casey's interpretation of her. And then of course we have Sherri, who really was supposed to be a one-shot character and then just... evolved into something more than I ever could have imagined. And thank goodness for that, because True needs human companions.
> 
> Next time there really will be ghosts. I have a draft already prepared but it needs some serious tinkering before I can post it. So keep your eyes out for that, and enjoy the holiday!


	83. Chapter Seventy-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

Even though I hear the alarm on the Pokédex go off the next morning, it is True's hand that wakes me. Consciousness comes slowly, and I have to struggle to make sense of shapes and colors in the half-light. True's breath is stale and it washes over me when I yawn. She scratches the back of my ear and greets me with a slurred, "Morning, sleepy."  
  
Stretching helps. Everything comes into focus with a few blinks: True's tired smile and her messy hair sprawling on her pillow; the dull flickering of Jackson's tail flame on the other side of the room, and Britt's cannons catching that light. The alarm has woken them up, too, but they're slower to move. "Did everyone come in here last night?" I whisper.  
  
"Just Jackson and Britt. Clara was in here," she starts, but her words are drowned out by a yawn.  
  
"Clara went flying," Jackson finishes, and tries to stretch his wings as best he can. "When's the Alakazam coming to get us?"  
  
True pulls herself forward but doesn't slide off her blankets. "A few hours. Plenty of time for breakfast and a team meeting."  
  
A few long minutes pass where we all stare at each other. Britt's the one who breaks the silence. "So…?"  
  
True meets the question with a pout. "Bed's really warm. Gimme a minute."  
  
"I know how to pour food into bowls," Britt says, and pushes herself up off the floor. "Might as well see if Clara isn't back and if Julian will come inside."  
  
True breathes a long sigh and finally pushes the covers off. "I'll take care of him and get the food. You guys coming?"  
  
We lumber out of that bedroom, stretching and cracking knuckles. It only takes a few minutes of talking for True to convince the Nidoking to come inside; he's rubbing his hand along the back of his thick neck before he notices me. "Uh. Sleep well?"  
  
I still don't quite know what to make of Julian, who is equal parts eager to please and terrified of this very human-populated world around us. He seems better after last night's talk with True, in that he doesn't jump at the sizzling of the pan and the rattle of Pokéchow in the giant bowls. But his eyes still move rapidly between the team, who either meet his inquiring eyes with measured stares or ignore him outright. But I'm careful to meet him directly in the eye when I say, "I'm fine. You?"  
  
"Stiff. Kind of rained last night."  
  
"I heard!" Hyde shouts happily. "I stayed up after you all fell asleep and just listened to it. The sound it makes on the roof is really nice."  
  
True looks up from the hot stove top. "You could've come in, Julian."  
  
But the Nidoking shakes his head. "I didn't want to bother anyone. I had the… roof," he adds hesitantly, like he's questioning the word. "It kept me dry. And like Hyde said, the rain was nice to listen to. Calming."  
  
True's brow furrows but she nods, turning her attention back to her eggs and tofu bacon. "I'm making extra for anyone who wants it—and we have to _share_ , Jackson," she adds, as the Charizard's head snaps up in attention. "Too much of this stuff probably isn't even good for you."  
  
"I ate meat with my mom," he whines.  
  
"Calm down," Britt says. She settles on the giant couch, spreading her arms along the back. "It isn't even real meat."  
  
"But it _tastes_ —"  
  
"Okay," I yell, "orders up!"  
  
There are times when I miss my peaceful breakfasts at the lab, with just me and an apple and the rising sun. But there's a comfortable chaos in this scramble of food and picking food out of neighbors' bowls, made more intense by Clara's sudden arrival. Her beak and feathers are clean and wet, dripping with—water, thank Arceus. I have to turn away as she settles beside Jackson, who turns to look at her with surprise and then disappointment. "I didn't think you'd go out _hunting_."  
  
She shrugs and starts pecking at her bowl of food. Jackson is left to turn back to his own dish and start picking through the few morsels that hadn't been cleaned up.  
  
He has grown strong in the months since his evolution, but now that I'm really looking at him I can tell that other things have changed as well: his shoulders are getting broader, and his wings don't seem quite as oversized. There's a grace to the length of his neck that I hadn't noticed before.  
  
He catches me staring and furrows his brow, mouth full of food. I shrug, and he shrugs, and the moment passes.  
  
"So," True begins. "The good news is that we're halfway through with the Elite Four, and we know who's coming next. The bad news…"  
  
"They're Lance and Agatha," Britt finishes simply.  
  
"I bet I could take both of them on," Jackson says. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, and I'm a dragon."  
  
"Dragons are weak to themselves, and you're not that kind of dragon," I say. "Let's just listen to the plan."  
  
"You're on reserve for Agatha, Jackson," True says. "Just in case. But I think Hyde will be able to take us through."  
  
His psychic abilities would be an asset by themselves, but every one of us knows that Hyde, who had spent the most time training and _being_ with Wilkes, has the advantage when it comes to fighting ghosts. I think Hyde knows it too, because he's solemn when he nods and says, "I'll be okay."  
  
"And then for Lance… Britt and Julian, you're going to be our main fighters. Sound okay?"  
  
It's hardly a question with Britt, who flashes a thumb's up between bites of Pokéchow. Julian lifts his head, a perfect statue with eyes that gleam with life. "I won't let you down in that arena," he says softly.  
  
True's words are firm when she says, "We're going to try our best. Okay?"  
  
But I know that "trying our best" isn't the ideal outcome. Not for any of us, not anymore. Somehow, we have turned this gang of misfits into a fighting team that has held its own against two of the strongest trainers in the region. Somehow, we're moving forward.  
  
Somehow, things are going to be okay.  
  


* * *

  
Not one picture has been moved. The tables and chairs are all where they had been yesterday afternoon. The five metal doors stand silently, their screens empty and black. And yet there's a nervousness in the air that rings electric, that brings the hair along my back and True's neck to a bristle.  
  
We are the last to arrive. Gary and Carlotta don't seem to notice us at first; they're too busy talking to themselves or one of their Pokémon. I recognize Cassidy at Gary's side immediately, murmuring replies in soft whispers. They are their own tiny world, with Gary's hand on Cassidy's shoulder and her paw on his knee.  
  
Carlotta's the one who notices us, though she doesn't stop her frantic pacing. She lifts her head, a false pride, and regards us with a stiff upper lip. "Took you long enough."  
  
"We had to eat," True says cautiously. "Are you…?"  
  
"I'm _fine_ ," Carlotta snaps. "Just want to get this over with."  
  
"Chill out," Gary sighs, and lifts his head. "We're all nervous."  
  
Carlotta's icy "I'm not nervous" seems so at odds with her stiff body and rumpled skirt, though to be fair that might just be the style. She's traded her huge hat for a pair of dark sunglasses that hide her eyes, and her hair is pulled up in a tight bun on top of her head. I have never seen someone who looks so put together seem like she's about to fall apart at the seams at any second, and I've known True for years.  
  
True and I trade weary glances. But there's nothing for us to do except wait. I try to make eye-contact with Cassidy, but all of her attention is focused on her trainer. Their earlier talk must have helped because he looks calmer than he had when I'd first seen him, but there's a wariness to his eyes that strikes me when he looks up at True and I. "Saw your match against Bruno last night," he says. "Your bird doing okay?"  
  
The question visibly surprises True. "Uh, yeah. Clara's okay."  
  
Cassidy blinks warmly in our direction. I clear my throat. "And, uh, we saw your battle against Lance. It was great."  
  
"All Cassidy," Gary says, and there's a healthy dose of pride in his voice.  
  
Cassidy's eyes are bright as she drinks in Gary's praise. Though weariness still tugs her shoulders down she looks alert and pleased and satisfied, and when she meets my eyes she smiles warmly. "You did good too, Casey," she says.  
  
She'd seen me battle. She'd _seen me_. My throat feels dry and the only thing I can do is nod. "Yeah. It's cold in there, so. Be careful."  
  
"I'll tell Tez," she says, and winks.  
  
I'm saved by any further mortification by the mechanical voice that directs us to stand in front of the doors. There is still an element of tense expectation as the pictures roll across the small screens; it's the last one we'll have for this cycle, and I'm both anticipating and dreading its end.  
  
The curled dragon for Carlotta. The snowflake for Gary. The smoking eye for us.  
  
Carlotta practically darts through her door as soon as it opens, her heels clacking against the tiles. Cassidy and I share a startled glance as True and Gary's doors swing open. They do not regard each other as they move toward their own arenas. I have just enough time to recenter myself to this upcoming fight before we clear the tunnel.  
  
The weight of thousands of stares is not a new thing, not after two Elite Four matches. But there is a ruthless curiosity in the faces magnified across the giant screens that's at odds with the spectators I'd seen before. True must notice it too, because her shoulders tense under my gripping paws. Her mouth sets, and there's a new wariness in her eyes.  
  
We have just climbed into the trainer's booth when the doors on the other side of the field open and Agatha approaches.  
  
I don't trust my memory of pictures or of the SS Anne; it doesn't match the woman I see now. Agatha moves with the grace of a poisoned Slowbro, hobbling with effort on a thick and knobbed cane. She takes her time to approach her own booth, and it is enough of a pause in the action for the crowd to start chanting her name. But I know of her reputation, of her position as head of security for the Indigo League. Agatha may be old and a few decades past her physical prime, but her mind is as sharp as ever and that makes her dangerous.  
  
"You'll have to excuse me," she calls in a throaty voice, "I'm getting over the worst of a cold. Shall we begin?"  
  
"I challenge you," True replies.  
  
Agatha nods her head and smiles. And then, without any warning, the roar of the crowd fades away. For a few moments I think that the crowd is just waiting for us, a calm and collected group of people. But no, the screens are panning across the stadium—people are on their feet, their mouths open in silent screams. It scares me more than their roaring, and the fur along my spine bristles.  
  
"They won't be able to hear us," Agatha says, and in the silence her words are piercing. "When High Champion Mancon installed the safety screens in our arenas and in the gyms, I also had noise cancelers brought in. It's the perfect place for conversation."  
  
It's a _battlefield_! How can we focus if Agatha is insistent on talking with us? True's hands are already shaking as she pulls a familiar Safari Ball from her pocket. The cameras focus on Agatha's weathered hand as it bends down toward her cane—and now I see that the knobs on it aren't wood but Poké Balls, some painted in mottled purples and greens. Though I am aware of True throwing Hyde's ball, and the Exeggutor materializing from the flash of white, my eyes are for Agatha's thin finger lightly tapping against the release button of her ball, of the flash of white that answers the touch.  
  
It shouldn't surprise me that the one of Agatha's first Pokémon is a Gengar. Between wisps of sickly purple smoke I can see its huge black body; its eyes glaze over as it takes in Hyde, who is standing with curious expressions on his faces. It yawns with its giant mouth before taking a step forward, but instead of approaching us it just lifts into the sky.  
  
"I've been following you for a very long time, True Fargone," Agatha says. "Even before the attack on the SS Anne."  
  
True's eyes flash in alarm as she grips the railing in front of her. "Since when, then?"  
  
"Oak has kept me updated on your progress since Richard's arrest. I certainly wasn't getting any information from your grandmother, though that doesn't seem to be her fault. Mega Drain."  
  
Her last words are spoken so casually that True and I don't recognize it as a command to attack. By the time True calls for a Psychic, a sinister purple energy has enveloped Hyde. He doesn't even seem to notice the attack before his own eyes glow bright-green. The pulse of energy lands squarely in the Gengar's chest, and as it falls back to the ground its gigantic mouth opens in a surprised 'o'. Its ears twitching, its body hissing, the Gengar shakes its head.  
  
True's eyes move rapidly between Hyde, the Gengar, and Agatha. "You know her?"  
  
"Oh, we were childhood friends." Agatha is chuckling as she recalls her fallen battler, and it's an eerie sound that makes my skin crawl. "Every once in a while we get together and have our little chats. I hadn't seen her look so bewildered when I told her you were taking the League challenge. But that isn't surprising, I suppose. People like her always want to be in the know. Othello."  
  
Her commands all seem like afterthoughts to this conversation, like this isn't a high-stakes battle or even her _job_. My blood boils hot as my eyes turn from Agatha's face to the Golbat that materializes from the flash of red. This is not Strike, not even a Golbat from the Seafoam Islands or Victory Road, but fear and anger flash through my bones regardless, fighting for dominance.  
  
Anger wins the first round. "Hyde needs to save his strength," I murmur in True's ear. "Let me battle the Golbat."  
  
True's eyes are fear bright and her hands are still shaking, and for a moment I fear that she's going to protest. But she nods and recalls Hyde in a flash of red, calling my name in a hitching voice. I press a waiting paw as the protective shield drops momentarily, allowing me onto the battlefield. In this silence Othello's wing beats seem to echo, like we're in a tunnel or a hall in a building.  
  
But this is a stadium and death is only implied by the few wisps of mist left behind by the Gengar. I am not the cowering Pikachu she had met on that boat. Not anymore.  
  
I don't need the screens to see Agatha's piercing eyes lock onto mine. "I saw you last on the boat, didn't I? With the boy."  
  
It's frowned upon to fire before True's command, but I'm too busy trying to keep the boat in the past and my thoughts on this battle to give a fuck. The boy and Peter and Jackson and Kerri. There hadn't been a Golbat there. _Focus_. Othello glares at me with his beady black eyes, his ears twitching and his gigantic mouth curled around a curse. I spark a warning at him.  
  
Agatha already has a Hyper Potion in her hand. She whistles for the Golbat to come back to her; he, too, has to wait for the barrier to fall before perching on the railing in front of the old woman. "I remember him. He made it through two very painful days before dying. I thought those had been fire burns on the boy's face," she says, spraying her Pokémon. "Were they electric burns instead?"  
  
Jackson had burned him. He had been coming after him had already killed two of us, no one of us, Peter had already been dead and Agatha had found us, there had been—there had been no breeze, the air had been stagnant. There's cool air brushing across my cheeks. But there'd been fresh air on the deck, too, before I'd left, before I'd found them. Where even am I right now? The room is spinning, or is it rocking, am I here or there or—  
  
"Casey!"  
  
And it's True's voice that recenters me. I'd sent her away so she'd be safe, because the SS Anne had turned from a cruise ship to a floating grave. If this was the SS Anne and I was seeing Agatha before now, she wouldn't be here. Had I told her about the boy with the Pidgey's beak for a nose, and his gleaming gun?  
  
The closest screen is focused on True's face—if she had been panicked before, she's absolutely beside herself now. She's bitten her lip so hard that blood is trickling down into the furred collar of her jacket, and her knuckles are white where they grip the railing. "Are you okay?"  
  
I'm not going to be okay until this battle is over, for better or worse. So I don't answer. Agatha takes that from me with a gruff, "Should I be worried about him as well as you?"  
  
Do I stay on this battlefield or do I go back to her, giving Agatha a chance to break us down again? I turn my head around to stare directly at her. "Where do you need me?"  
  
She needs me everywhere, I know this. But the longer we stare at each other, the more she changes. Right before me the fear in her eyes becomes replaced with a hard light, and it only grows when she lifts her eyes away from mine and at Agatha. "Finish her off."  
  
"You really are Tess's, aren't you?" Agatha chuckles. "Very well. Othello!"  
  
By now Othello has already returned to the battlefield, circling lazily above me. This time I wait for True's call for Thunderbolt, and I watch as the attack arcs up and strikes the Golbat right between Othello's razor-tipped wings. Everything is white until it isn't, and though my heart is racing in my head and my fingers are twitching uncontrollably, I am not the one who falls to the ground. Othello groans and twitches, and when he sees me take one step forward he screeches, "Yield! I yield."  
  
Agatha recalls her Golbat and I leap right into True's trembling arms. I lick away the blood that's staining her lip, tasting copper and sweat in equal parts.  
  
"But you know, Tessie was never much of a battler," Agatha says, and plucks yet another ball from her massive cane. "Now your father, he was one of the finest battlers I've seen. You remind me of him, too."  
  
Is the roar of the crowd so great that Agatha's sound barriers can't completely block it? I turn to True armed with words instead of lightning bolts, but fall to silence when we look to each other. I have seen pieces of this expression in the living and the dead: Britt's furrowed brow, Jackson's curled lip, Kerri's burning eyes.  
  
For the first time in my life, I am afraid _of_ True Fargone instead of afraid _for_ her.  
  
The obvious question, _are you okay_ , rattles in my throat. But I won't ask it; there's no way she's okay right now. In situations like these she is usually able to move to a quiet place and piece herself back into a functioning human again. How often have I seen her curled into a corner, fighting for breath and struggling to keep herself together? But here, with all eyes on us on the region's greatest stage, there is no room for escape.  
  
Agatha's voice floods in from the speakers. "You fight like him. He battled me once. Had that same look on his face. Lost horribly."  
  
And if there's no way to flee from this arena, the only thing to do is fight. True, with her gritted teeth and stiff shoulders, is in this moment more of a warrior than I had dared to imagine her being. I have expect her to jump out onto the battlefield herself, but she stays put with her burning eyes as she says, "Send out your next battler."  
  
Agatha is a rock in the face of this new, fierce tempest as she plucks another ball from her staff, a mountain under the avalanche. That terrifying calm is reflected in her next Pokémon, a hooded Arbok that stretches up so high that it shades part of the ground.  
  
Again Hyde materializes in a flash of white, but the cheerful expression I am so used to seeing on him has vanished. The heads that face us show weariness, confusion, _fear_ , and it takes my breath away to see him shuffle away from us, as if True's anger is a fire that can burn.  
  
She seems blind to it, blind to Hyde and even to me when she commands, "Psychic."  
  
"Bite, Sycorax."  
  
Hyde seems so focused on True that I wonder if he doesn't know that the Arbok is approaching, her giant fangs gleaming in the stadium lights—but then she begins to glow that familiar green and freezes. Hyde lifts her into the air effortlessly, keeps what should be a powerful, writhing creature stiff as a board. Sycorax does not hiss, cannot open her mouth, but when the camera zooms in on her bright yellow eyes I recognize the flash of fear.  
  
Hyde's frightened, too. But when True doesn't give him another command he releases the Arbok, who falls to the tiled floor with a dull thud. Sycorax doesn't wait a moment before immediately slithering back toward Agatha. She probably doesn't need her hissed pleading to be recalled in a flash of red.  
  
True is breathing hard, her jaw clenched and her lips pressed in a fine line. Hyde is blinking back at her with weariness in his eyes. "You're scaring me," he says, and it's the quietest I've ever heard him. "Why are you so angry?"  
  
True stares up at him. Blinks hard. Looks away.  
  
There is too much memory here for a place we've never been before. We have battled eight gyms and two Elite Four members now, and had come out of them mostly unscathed. And I knew why: it was easier to fight an opponent that could be touched, that could be damaged. She's _confident_ when she's in the arena, fighting with her friends. Now this place of solace has been turned against her.  
  
When I look at the tired-eyed Haunter that emerges from the flash of light and float before us, his hands curled in front of him, I see the Pokémon who had stolen me and Jackson away from the SS Anne. I do not see Wilkes until I catch eyes with True. She has stopped shaking, but her lip is bleeding again. She sucks on the wound and takes a deep breath.  
  
When moments pass and True still hasn't called out a command, Agatha leans toward us, bracing her weight on her wooden staff. "Where did that bravado go?" she asks, her lips upturned. "Don't tell me you're reconsidering my offer?"  
  
Hyde's eyes narrow. "I thought Leaders were only supposed to battle, not talk to us."  
  
None of them ever have, not like this. Even Lorelei and Bruno, two ferocious trainers, had concentrated on the battle brewing in front of their eyes. Agatha, as one of the Elite Four, was equal in their power. But people don't shudder when they think of Lorelei and Bruno. With Agatha, they think of the things that go bump in the night; they think of Specter Tests and the ways our minds are never our own.  
  
"She's different," True says, and grips the railing with a white-knuckled hand. "And he's different. That's not Wilkes."  
  
Hyde shakes his many heads. "I know."  
  
True's hard expression cracks as she asks, "Can you fight him?"  
  
The towering Exeggutor doesn't respond right away. And for a moment I fear that he won't, or that he will refuse to fight anymore. But why do I fear that? Peg Hartfield's Nidoqueen hadn't been Kerri, and yet Jackson had been pulled back. We all keep seeing the faces of the dead in those of the living. Is Hyde strong enough to break that cycle?  
  
Dark purple energy clouds one of Hyde's heads, and I watch its eyes begin to flutter shut. My head whips up to Hamlet, whose eyes are glowing that same sickly shade. Hyde must recognize this too, because he shakes his body vigorously in an attempt to wake up.  
  
True's eyes are wide with alarm. "You—"  
  
"I don't appreciate challengers who stall for time," Agatha says, voice firm, body stiff. "I don't have much of it to waste. Hamlet, another Hypnosis."  
  
Though Hyde's eyes continue to flutter shut, there is an awareness in them that energizes me from the trainer's booth. He stands tall and shifts his feet. I am painfully conscious of the cameras buzzing like Beedrill on our half of the stadium, and of the screens that have blown up Hyde's five faces. "Why do you do this?" he asks.  
  
Agatha narrows her eyes. "Your trainer was the one who issued the challenge."  
  
"She did." He shakes his heads. "But she's battling. You just keep talking and… and playing sneaky tricks to trip us up. It's not okay!"  
  
"These battles are a test of strategy and character. That's how it's always been. And right now, your trainer—"  
  
"Is still standing!" Hyde says simply. "Even against a mean old Scyther like you!"  
  
"I can't say that's one I've heard before," she mutters. She shakes her head. "Do you refuse to fight, Exeggutor? Or are you going to stay and battle us?"  
  
And isn't that the question?  
  
There's no one better than Hyde to fight these ghosts, but there must be a way we could fight without him. Clara had trained with Wilkes, too, and she might just be fast enough to avoid the attacks Agatha's ghosts could throw—but then I think of Clara's body frozen above us, Clara slamming into the ground and this time being unable to come back up. Do ghosts burn? Can they melt? Is Jackson's fire hot and precise enough to drive them away? Britt maybe, or Julian, or even me—  
  
"I want you," Hyde says, and his echoing voices are drums in my head, "to stop."  
  
Bright green energy engulfs his thick body. I'm expecting a hiss of energy, a wrapping around the Haunter but, with a cry from all five heads, Hyde's Psychic erupts upward and converges in a giant beacon of light. He stomps and flings his body forward, and the light becomes a moving thing, an arrow that strikes Hamlet in a direct hit. The ghostly scream floods the arena, so loud and so haunting that I'm certain the oblivious audience can hear it.  
  
Hyde is panting as he stands up and shakes his leaf-like hair. I chance a glance at True, whose eyes are wide and no longer fiercely burning but glistening.  
  
We watch together as wisps of smoke trail from the Haunter's pointed body, his clawed hands and sinister mouth. The cameras are focusing on Agatha's face, pointed with alarm, as she plucks the Haunter's ball from her knobbed cane. Hamlet disappears in a flash of red but leaves behind a few of his vapors. Agatha does not replace the ball back to its resting place but, with a grimace, enters it into the emergency chute.  
  
It had been too dark to see Wilkes dying; we had had only the glow from Hyde's psychic energy, and even with that we had only been able to see a few steps in front of our faces. But it must have been something like that, a dissolving darkness. He hadn't said a word, had just laughed. Hyde had been the one to realize what had happened—and afterward, he had been the one to lead us to a temporary shelter.  
  
He stands now with his feet rooted to the ground, his clawed toes scraping the ground. His huge trunk is curled toward Agatha. Emotions flicker like candlelight across his faces: anger to sadness to shock to rage to sorrow. He looks at me with a final resignation but does not break his stance.  
  
The separating wall is within arm's reach. True presses her hand against it, brushes her thumb as if the invisible barrier were Hyde's trunk. He must see the gesture because he smiles. "It's gonna be okay. We're almost done, right?"  
  
Tears are streaming down True's face, and she doesn't brush them away. "I'm so—"  
  
But Hyde shakes his heads. "You don’t have to say anything."  
  
"I do," she whimpers. "Not… maybe not here, but I do. I'm sorry, I don't…"  
  
"We know," I whisper back. "And it's okay."  
  
There's no way to reach Hyde even in this lapse in the action, not when she hasn't called for a rest. But I'm available to her shaking hands, her thundering heart, and she cradles me close. I don't know what the audience is thinking right now, watching True transform soundlessly from a simple battler to a warrior to a trembling girl seeking the touch and forgiveness of her Pokémon.  
  
There will be people who ask, _which one is the real True Fargone?_ There is no one answer. And it doesn't matter anyway. Right now, there are beating hearts and a battlefield. And an opponent to take down.  
  
"Now I'm beginning to understand," Agatha says. "But you still have one obstacle before you've cleared this round."  
  
True takes her time with a few deep breaths. It is a small and quiet rebellion, a recentering. I am here and Hyde is there as True collects herself again, mutters a string of "you're okay"s and "breathe"s to herself. Maybe even to us. I match her breathing and some of that tension bleeds away from me. Even Hyde, who does not have to turn to watch us, seems calmer.  
  
The opening of a Poké Ball is enough to draw our attention back to the field. Another Gengar floats in the air above its master, eyes glowing violet and teeth locked in a face-tearing grin. Agatha has raised her shoulders to stare at us, both hands curled over her cane. "So. Your move, Miss Fargone."  
  
Another deep breath, another grasping of the railing. Another determined, "Psychic, Hyde."  
  
"Put the tree to sleep, Macbeth."  
  
The Gengar seems to blink out of existence; Hyde's eyes glow green but there is nothing to hit. Hyde is pacing when Macbeth shudders into being again, right in front of Hyde's front-most faces. Black energy soaks into Hyde's eyes, and I watch in horror as his eyes flutter closed and he slumps forward. The Gengar floats a few feet up—  
  
And I swear to Arceus, he winks at us and asks, in the most horrible stage-whisper I've ever heard, "Is he gone?"  
  
It is the most ridiculous thing, and True is laughing, and I'm wondering if any of this is real right now. "Right above you."  
  
"Good!" he shouts, and shoots a Psychic above him.  
  
One attack had been enough to take care of Agatha's first Gengar, but it is clear that Macbeth is the sturdier twin. Eyes flashing and fingers twitching, the Gengar retaliates with a Psychic blast of his own. The attack strikes home in the middle of Hyde's five heads, but though he winces he doesn't seem that much worse for wear.  
  
Apparently there's no time for conversation now, because Agatha is eerily focused when she commands, "Change your tactics. Confuse Ray."  
  
"One more Psychic!" True yells, and she is grinning.  
  
Am I safe from the effects of a Confuse Ray if I'm behind the barrier? I avert my eyes anyway, and find them fixated on the screen. Macbeth's dizzying beam makes direct contact with one of Hyde's faces, to the point that the pupils begin to rapidly enlarge and contract repeatedly. But there is a clear awareness in the other sets of eyes, and with a roar Hyde repeats his superpowered Psychic attack. It connects and Macbeth is tossed to the ground like a rag doll, solid and unable to get up to fight again.  
  
Sound comes back in waves as the protective shields come down. Has the audience always been that hard, or does it seem louder because we've been without for the match? Their cheers and whoops and applause rattles my bones, but it is True who is shaking, panting hard and leaning against the railing as though she's just finished a marathon.  
  
Hyde walks up to us with confusion in his eyes, which still flicker with green. "You're going to be okay now," he says, like it's a foregone thing.  
  
And I wonder if maybe, as True takes her hands and threads them through Hyde's leafy hair, it really is that simple.  
  
But the moment is ruined by Agatha clearing her throat over the speakers, drawing every pair of eyes. "It isn't often that I battle a trainer who doesn't lose a single Pokémon to me. Your family would be proud."  
  
I don't want to think about her meaning of "lose." I don't even want to think of Agatha anymore, or see her ever again. I think True feels the same because she stands up and glares at the old woman, silent. This is the time where we would be walking off our platform to wait in that circular room. I know this. The audience knows it. When it becomes clear that tradition is being broken, they begin to fall silent, quietly anticipating what comes next.  
  
"I may share their blood," True says, "but I am not my family. Not my father, not my grandmother, not anyone else." She rubs the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand. The screens are flooded with her splotchy face. "I fought you as True Fargone, and even… even with everything that happened during that battle I won as True Fargone. Just me and my Pokémon, and nobody else. Remember that."  
  
And for a moment there is silence; the cameras are panning across the crowd, and I see more confused faces than expectant ones. But then an amazing thing happens: people start cheering. And maybe it's the crash of their thundering voices after the quiet back-and-forth between Agatha and True, but I am startled. Even Hyde, whose default setting is "loud," seems surprised by the sudden change in volume.  
  
We stare expectantly at Agatha, who is now curled over her cane as though she's about to pounce forward. But she doesn't. Agatha bows her head and chuckles, and the sound reverberates across the battlefield. "After today, I doubt anyone would be able to forget. Fight well."  
  
True does not recall Hyde as she makes her way off the podium. He lifts my body with a laugh and places me between two front-facing heads. True rests her hand, only slightly trembling now, against Hyde's bark-like skin. We lift our heads high as we make our way off the platform and toward the tunnel. As the darkness engulfs us again, Hyde begins to hum a merry little tune, his feet keeping time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gengar Mega Drain, Hyde Psychic, Gengar FAINT  
>  Casey Thunderbolt, Golbat Super Potion//Casey Thunderbolt, Golbat FAINT  
> Haunter Dream Eater UNAFFECT, Hyde Psychic, Haunter FAINT  
> Hyde Psychic, Arbok FAINT  
> Gengar Hypnosis, Hyde wakes up//Gengar Psychic CRIT (Hyde still in green), Hyde Psychic//Gengar Confuse Ray, Hyde Psychic, Gengar FAINT_
> 
> So let me tell you something about Gen I Exeggutor. Their movepool is shit and needs lots of TM help. (That's true of a lot of Gen I Pokemon but Exeggutor especially, god damn) They're slow as hell to level up. The design is ridiculous. And thanks entirely to this playthrough, they're one of my new favorite Pokemon. I can't begin to tell you how many selfdestructs and psychics Hyde took to the face and stood back up with just a few scratches. Gen I is very kind to Exeggutor because there are like two bug-type moves, ghost is null against psychic-types, it's pre-special attack/defense split, but despite all that it's just... Exeggutorrrrr. He was such a champ this entire battle. Honestly he probably could have taken that Golbat for a full sweep but I wanted Casey to get a little bit more experience so in he went. 
> 
> Obvious naming scheme is obvious so.
> 
> On the next episode of Wonderwall: call Daenerys, we've got a dragon infestation!


	84. Chapter Seventy-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

We are the first ones back in the room.  
  
Lunch has already been laid out, the same assortment of sandwiches and soups and pellets from yesterday. Only a few hours had passed since our early breakfast, and yet my stomach growls at the rich smells that float around us. Hyde nearly quivers at the spread. "I didn't think I could ever be this hungry, but here I am."  
  
True smiles. Her adrenaline must be wearing off, because she's sluggish as she approaches the table and prepares lunch for us. Hyde chatters away, taking full advantage of having the room to ourselves; his words combined with the rattle of food pellets make for a comfortable din so unlike the roaring of the crowd.  
  
The team is released. We grab our bowls and settle into what has quickly become _our_ part of the circular waiting room, close to Lorelei's snowflake door. Britt stretches out along the floor, picking at pellets, and stares at us. "So do I have to wait for the Battle Network tonight or am I getting a play-by-play?"  
  
Hyde jumps to the task enthusiastically, feeding one head and using another to talk. "Okay. First of all, it was reeeeally quiet. Super quiet…" He embellishes like the best storytellers do: Agatha becomes a lumbering demon with flashing eyes, and her Gengar are her shadowy puppets that she manipulates with a silent mind, and True is the shining beacon of light and hope that will blast away the darkness. She shies away from this but doesn't admonish him, just listens with her cheeks flushed as she nibbles halfheartedly on a sandwich. Britt is rolling her eyes and Clara is smiling to herself; Jackson and Julian are absolutely taken by the Exeggutor’s wild story, leaning forward with wide eyes and open mouths. I am too, even though I had been with him and I know what’s fact and what’s fiction. I’m there to keep Hyde on track when he goes off on a tangent.  
  
Hyde’s just about to go into his grand finale when the speakers begin to groan above our heads. Julian’s ears fly back so quickly that they smack right in Jackson’s face; we have to shush him as a gravelly voice sounds over the speakers.  
  
" _Carlotta St. Clair has forfeited against Dragon Master Lance and will no longer be participating in the Elite Four challenge. Please continue preparing for your fourth match._ "  
  
Just seconds ago we had been talking and listening to a story; now we all sit and stare at each other in surprised silence. The room suddenly seems too big for us—and it is, because Gary and his team still haven't come back in.  
  
"You think anything bad happened to them?" Hyde whispers, giving voice to my fears.  
  
"Shh," True says, and turns to the snowflake door. The doors are too heavy for sound in the tunnels to carry through. But it's impossible to ignore her eyes on the raised emblem. We all stare at it. We all watch it open. Gary Oak walks into the room with a soaked Cassidy on his heels, his cheeks flushed pink and his hair more disheveled than usual. There’s a haunted look in his eyes that is only familiar now because it's the same one I'd seen blossom in True's.  
  
He shakes his head and water goes flying; though we're several feet away from each other, Jackson hisses and recoils. Gary seems to take no mind of it and instead turns to True with narrowed eyes. “They made an announcement in the tunnel. Is she really out?”  
  
“I don’t see why they’d lie to us about that.” True leans forward in her chair, cupping her hands along her knees. “I hope her team’s okay.”  
  
“Hope _she’s_ okay. You remember how off she seemed before going in? She was here when the Alakazam brought me in, nearly jumped out of her skin when I showed up.” He sinks into the nearest chair, directly across from us. “Guess the old hag had a point after all. Can’t take the heat, get out of the stadium.”  
  
There can only be one old hag. Understanding dawns like a collapsing wall on True and I, but she’s the one to give it voice. “Agatha did that to her?”  
  
“She obviously said something Carlotta couldn’t shake,” Gary says with a shrug. He starts plucking Poké Balls from the belt around his waist. “Not our problem anymore.” His team is released in simultaneous bursts of white light, but all I can focus on the pained look in Cassidy’s eyes as she follows this back-and-forth discussion. Michaela’s eyes flutter between Gary, Cassidy, and me; I feel a gentle pushing against my subconscious but grit my teeth against it.  
  
“I just don’t know why she’s allowed to do it,” True says softly.  
  
"She?"  
  
"Agatha. Torturing us."  
  
“'Cause she has her paws in everything around here?" Gary scoffs. "You can't be a good trainer if you freeze up at every little thing. Carlotta couldn't do it. I'm amazed you did, after what happened in Silph."  
  
Jackson's furious growl is met with a barked warning from Gary's Ninetales— _Boston_ , I remember now. True has to reach out and touch the leathery tip of Jackson's wing to bring him back to her. It's Cassidy who admonishes Gary with a soft, "Don't." I'm trying hard to swallow down the electricity building in my bones, to zap some sense into him.  
  
True, her eyes hazy and burning, whips her head away. "Well, I changed."  
  
"Good for you," he grumbles, and stands up. "C'mon, guys. Lunch."  
  
Cassidy and I meet stares. It is probably the only moment of connection that we'll get tonight. You could tear through the tension between our teams with a knife. Keeping to our own separate corners isn't a new thing, not now; what's new is the warning gleam in Boston's eyes and the wariness in Cassidy's as she begins to eat. I choke down a few more morsels of food for myself, but it feels dry going down my throat. Finally I push the bowl aside and lay down on one of the couches to stare at the room.  
  
Time passes. Everyone is in various states of rest or pacing; True looks to be fast asleep with her legs hanging over the arms of the plush red chair, and Julian is wandering around our half of the room looking at pictures. Jackson doesn’t move but I know he’s wide awake, his eyes narrowed and focused on the opposite side of the room—on Cassidy, who is curled around Michaela in a quiet slumber. The Alakazam catches him staring and raises her head quizzically. Boston and the Sandslash are beside them, resting with one eye open.  
  
Jackson mutters something low under his breath, soft enough so that even I can’t hear it. But volume doesn’t matter to Michaela. Her only answer is to turn her head away and close her eyes. I know she isn’t sleeping, either. I can still feel that fuzzy pressure in my head. In the quietest voice possible I whisper, "Is she okay?"  
  
Michaela doesn't answer right away; maybe she's still focused on Jackson, or maybe she's deliberately ignoring me. I start to try again before her voice, lower-toned since evolution, bubbles in my thoughts. <<She's tired. The battle against the Dragon Master took a lot out of her.>>  
  
I still feel weary after my fight with Lorelei, and that had been yesterday morning. I hadn't been fighting against _dragons_. "She fought again just now?"  
  
<<Against the Slowbro, after Tez and Jekyll were unable to battle.>>  
  
Gary wouldn't be stupid enough to send out a Sandslash against an ice- and water-type master. That leaves the Magneton and the Exeggutor, who I see sleeping against the wall. "They're okay?  
  
<<They'll be fine—>>  
  
“I could hear you thinking from over there."  
  
I had been so concentrated on Michaela that I hadn't heard Julian's approach. I jump and look up to see him standing above me, his brow knitted in quiet confusion. “What’s going on?”  
  
I look back toward Michaela, who has broken eye contact with me. She's gone back to staring at Jackson, who is staring at her with fury in his eyes. I furrow my brow and sigh. “Making sure no one kills each other,” I mutter softly.  
  
But either Jackson has been eavesdropping or I’m not as quiet as I think, because he growls and stands up. “ _I’m_ not the murderer,” he says, too loud to ignore, and moves on to curl around True’s chair.  
  
Every member of Gary’s team is glaring at him—they’re glaring at all of us, with fur and spines bristling and gears whirring threateningly. Gary looks like he’s about to punch something, probably Jackson, but Michaela is staring at him and shaking her head. I hear True's sleepy voice call out to Jackson, who retorts with a growled "I'm _not_." I start to move closer to her, but Jackson lifts his lip threateningly and blows a few wisps of smoke to drive me back.  
  
Me, I’m too much of a coward to confront him about it. So even though True gently scolds Jackson and extends a hand to me, I turn around let Britt and Clara move toward the two instead.  
  
"Are they our rivals?"  
  
I guess? True and Gary have always had their different ways of seeing things, and more often than not they’ve clashed on those different ideals. We’ve had similar goals but radically different ways of achieving them. I only know Michaela through a few scattered and silent conversations. When I think of Gary’s team I don’t think of a team of seven, I think of a team of two or maybe three. Really, I only think of one.  
  
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.  
  
Julian groans as he settles on the ground beside me in an awkward sit, carefully trying not to disturb any pieces of furniture. “Something bad happened in Silph."  
  
It would be easy enough to guess. "No one's told you about it?"  
  
Julian shakes his head. "But I can guess. You lost someone."  
  
We lost so much more than a teammate. And it was even more than losing Minka, who was more like a member of our family than a fighter on our battling team. True lost her battling spirit for a long time; we lost our heart and purpose before finding it again somewhere along the way. “Minka,” I say softly.  
  
"To one of them?"  
  
My eyes betray me. He follows them to Cassidy, still curled up in Michaela's lap, her eyes closed in quiet slumber. Julian nods in understanding. "To her."  
  
I don’t even notice that I’m shaking my head until I catch Julian’s incredulous look. I lower my voice still further, until speaking hurts. “She got hit by a Confuse Ray from a Golbat. It wasn’t…” There’s no way to condense our fall out and rekindling in a few words, not ones that make sense. Instead I say, “It’s not the same as murder.”  
  
I turn my back to Gary’s team and instead look up to Julian, who is making no attempt to look away from them. He watches thoughtfully, with a slight tilt to his head and furrowing of his brow. “But you forgave her,” he says.  
  
Have I really? I’d called her a monster and apologized for it. I’d trained with her. I hadn’t harmed her, not permanently. Does that equal forgiveness? And can I forgive her if I can’t forget the look in her eyes or Minka’s frozen body glittering in the sunlight?  
  
I am very aware of the pressure of Michaela's mind on my own. I sigh. “I don’t think we should be talking about this right now."  
  
Julian opens his mouth to reply—probably to tell me to spit it out—but the speakers overhead begin to crackle as a bell rings. “ _Trainers, please stand in front of your final door. We will begin the fourth round momentarily._ ”  
  
The noise has startled everyone out of their silence. Bodies shift and Pokémon disappear. True pushes out of her chair with a yawn and a shiver. She hasn’t lost that haunted look in her eye but some of the weariness has disappeared. She places a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, murmuring something faint, before recalling him and the others.  
  
Julian grunts as he stands up. “When this is all over I think you should tell me everything.”  
  
When Cassidy isn’t in the room, when I can feel like I can breathe in air again. I nod.  
  
True walks over to us with a critical eye and a handprint on her cheek. “It’s time to go, guys. Julian, will you be okay in your ball?”  
  
The Nidoking nods, and just like that he vanishes in a flash of light. True places him in her front-most pocket before picking my lazy body off the ground. She cradles me like a child, and I let her, even as our doors—the curled dragon and the joined fists—whisper open. I look for Cassidy at Gary’s side, but she’s been recalled. Michaela stands in her place instead, just as tall as her trainer and with the same slope to her shoulders. She eyes me critically before disappearing down the tunnel toward Bruno; I cannot stop thinking of her eyes even as the door closes behind us.  
  
For some reason this tunnel feels longer than the others; maybe it’s the long string of electric lights that bathes us in a dusky blue glow, so much like the mushrooms in Mount Moon, or just Michaela’s haunting stare. Maybe I’m still reeling from Agatha and just don’t know it yet. Maybe it’s all these things combined.  
  
“Carlotta was a strong trainer,” True whispers into my shoulder.  
  
I shuffle to look right in her eyes. “You’re strong, too. Anyone who can tell Agatha off to her face is strong.”  
  
Her chuckling smile doesn’t meet her eyes. “Guess that means Gramma Tess had a point, huh? If I want something, I have to say it.”  
  
“What did you want?”  
  
“To have people know me as _me_ , not as someone’s daughter or granddaughter.”  
  
Our footsteps echo down the cement hallway, accenting her words like a backbeat. _Thum thum thum._ The light at the end of our tunnel is still a ways away. A straight shot.  
  
“If there’s a time to do that, it’s against the Dragon Master,” I say softly.  
  
She nods her head. “Win or lose.”  
  
“Let’s try to do the first thing.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
It's hard to think that I'd prefer to be out on that field right now, battling, instead of in that room. But as the tunnel opens to a wide and gaping mouth I can feel my muscles unclenching, feel my mind clearing. I’m settled on her shoulder as we step out into the light and the cheers of the crowd. The noise swells as our faces explode on the giant screens, catching True’s widening eyes and my set jaw. The stadium lights gleam overhead and threaten to blind, so I keep my eyes straight ahead. I do not like what I see.  
  
The man opposite the battlefield has his hands confidently on his hips, his narrow chest puffed out. I have trouble picking out his slim frame from the wide cape that flares out behind him, a gleaming garment that shifts from blue to yellow with every movement. His face on the screens behind him is sharp, all angles—even his smile seems crooked between his strong cheeks. Lance might be flamboyant but at least he's genuine about it; I don't expect any tricks from him.  
  
The crowd is still cheering as True steps into her place on the battlefield. Her heart is beating steadily in her neck as she lifts her head. Lance threads a hand through his hair and looks up at us. “Tell me something, True Fargone,” he says, and leans against the railing of his booth. “What do you know of dragon-type Pokémon?”  
  
It's a change from our previous battles. True and I exchange glances before she answers. “Only what I’ve read from the old stories. Some are guardians of treasures and regions; others bring destruction. All of them are powerful.”  
  
He seems impressed with this answer. “The true dragons are, yes. But even the Pokémon who only share dragon ancestors, but aren't dragons themselves, are clever and tough to beat. People study their whole lives with the dragons in order to understand and control them.” His angled fingers pluck a black-and-yellow ball from his belt, tosses it upward. The white light materializes, but it is sound that erupts into being first—a horrible, catastrophic roar that obliterates the crowd’s noise. Pinprick eyes stare down from a pointed blue face, locking on True and I with a feral intelligence.  
  
“I wonder,” Lance calls from behind his Gyarados, “if you have the strength to defeat mine.”  
  
There are only so many pure dragon-types in the world, in Kanto itself. But I don't think anyone would deny that the finned serpent in front of us is anything short short of draconic. The beasts of the sea, the nightmare of the sailors. Sometimes I think that Gyarados are more frightening than the true dragons just because it's so much easier to see one up close—and to see the disaster they so often bring in their wake.  
  
“One quick zap should be enough,” True murmurs under her breath. She turns to me with a question in her lifted brow.  
  
My answer is a quick jump from her shoulder and onto the tiles. The curled serpent hisses and twitches the fins along its head; I spark in reply.  
  
The buzzer sounds. Lance barely has enough time to open his mouth before True shouts for a Thunderbolt. Electricity flows out of me like water, congeals into one bolt that strikes the sea monster directly in the throat. The Gyarados howls, spews a jet of purple-red light from his gaping mouth, and then crashes onto the ground, unmoving.  
  
I don’t breathe until he’s sucked back into his ball, to applause.  
  
If Lance is surprised at this sudden defeat—by a _Pikachu_ of all opponents, I can't help but think—he doesn't show it. Instead he tosses another ball into the air with a lazy flick of his wrist. The long and elegant Pokémon that materializes on the other side of the battlefield is one I’ve seen only in books in paintings, never in real life. Lance’s Dragonair blinks her huge, dark eyes in my direction, waving her feathery ears in greeting. I’m almost reminded of Britt, when she had been a Wartortle. She'd had to go down to the river to comb the tangles out of her ears. I have to wonder: do Dragonair do the same?  
  
“Come back, Casey,” True says, and I am only too happy to obey.  
  
There is a smile on her face when she throws out Julian’s ball. He materializes with a deafening roar of his own, his single paw clenched into a fist. Mist is already smoking from his mouth as he swishes his huge tail against the ground, bowing his body forward in challenge. I can't help catching the screen as it focuses in on Julian. There are still a few flickers of fear in his red eyes, but the longer he's out on the field to soak in the lights and the sounds, the calmer he gets. He trains his eyes only on the Dragonair in front of him, who seems almost liquid in her movements, and waits.  
  
“Interesting indeed,” Lance says, and smiles. “Safeguard, Ruth!”  
  
“Ice Beam!”  
  
A low hum floats over the field as the Dragonair's body glows with a soft white light. The pale blue Ice Beam fires from Julian’s open mouth, straight toward the Dragonair. I watch as she bends around it, like a ribbon on a pole. Gone is the good-natured gleam in her giant eyes, and as she twists her body I can see why: there's a fine layer of frost along her tail, and it's hindering her movement.  
  
It's only because I'm focusing on Julian that I hear his grunted, "Stay still." The last attack might not have landed a direct hit, but it had been enough—Ruth is too slow to avoid the second Ice Beam, and falls to the ground with a shuddering whimper.  
  
The crowd bursts into applause as Ruth is recalled—and in her place erupts another Dragonair, with a thicker body and smaller ears. He turns to Lance with a questioning look; when his trainer nods, the serpentine dragon turns to us, the orb under his chin glowing a sickly purple.  
  
Julian turns around to look at us, waiting for a command. True gives it, another firm "Ice Beam!" whose echoes last longer on the battlefield than the Dragonair. The nameless warrior falls with a shriek onto the ground, encased in a creeping cocoon of ice. Lance is quick to recall him, and the crowd is quick to cheer us forward.  
  
I know that true dragon-type Pokémon are weak to ice, but there's something suspicious here. True meets my worried eyes with hesitation in her own, and turns to Lance with a firm mouth. “This seems too easy.”  
  
Lance’s thumb brushes over the ball containing his recalled Dragonair. “And you’d be right.” He pockets it and pulls out another ball, the gold stripes striking against the black. “I think you’ll have a little more trouble with this one.”  
  
Nothing touches the ground with this release. Light materializes into flying stone. Razor-sharp teeth flash in the sunlight as the Aerodactyl spins midair, finally coming to a stop from its acrobatic debut just in front of Lance. The screen shows him smiling. “Forgive Skava, he’s a bit of a performer.”  
  
“Like trainer, like Pokémon,” True says, and the crowd laughs. Her eyes widen in surprise before she breaks out in a smile. "Julian, are you okay to keep going?"  
  
His giant ears are twitching furiously. He turns to us again to nod. Does he understand that we can see the screens? Or maybe he still isn't focusing on them. But his red eyes meet True's and mine as he nods. "I just have to keep attacking."  
  
“Take your time aiming,” True says, as the Aerodactyl flies unbidden into the sky. “Let it come to you.”  
  
“Oh, there won’t be much chance of that happening,” Lance laughs. “Swift!”  
  
Bright, shining stars explode like meteors from the Aerodactyl’s wings, just as Julian starts to fire an Ice Beam. He’s blown off course, and the attack goes wide. There’s a sardonic smile on Skava's maw as it flies still higher up into the stadium, so wide and fierce that I don't need the cameras to see it.  
  
Julian must see it too, because he roars, “Just hold still!” He fires again but the Aerodactyl evades it just as nimbly. I haven't even seen a Pidgeot fly this gracefully; how does a flying rock move like this?  
  
Lance's chuckle floods through the speakers. “You want us to stand still? Fine. Skava, prepare a Hyper Beam.”  
  
The air crackles with energy and anticipation from the audience. The hairs along my spine stand straight up, and even True looks up as the Aerodactyl opens its huge jaw. “Be careful!”  
  
But Julian has already readied his Ice Beam, and fires it just as the Hyper Beam explodes into being.  
  
There is one second, one breath, where the two beams meet—white-blue and purple-red crash against each other, meeting in a steaming middle. It is a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight to behold, the stuff that will make for beautiful clips. They look evenly matched, and in the screens I can see the shared determination in Julian's and Skava's eyes.  
  
But Julian, maybe seeing a flash, diverts his curious eyes. And then the Hyper Beam rushes forward, a screeching rush of energy that engulfs the Ice Beam and takes it prisoner.  
  
Both make their mark directly on the Nidoking, in a crashing flash of light and energy.  
  
It takes forever for him to fall, and when he does it is with a thud that shakes the ground. Blood oozes over his frosted chest. His ears droop beside his head. I wait to hear him moan, to hear him roar, to even hear him scream, but the seconds keep passing and he's still not moving.  
  
Lance’s face, magnified by the screen above, is stoic and silent. It is a far cry from the laughing ease he had displayed in the beginning of the match. Gone is the almost gleeful man who had been taken by the theatricality of this match; in his place is a solemn battler, more of the man I was expecting to see through this fight. “If you want to forfeit—”  
  
“Time,” True chokes out. “I just…”  
  
She is panicking and I am panicking and my heart is going to beat out of its chest, oh Arceus his eyes are _open_ and glazed over and they are nothing, he's too still and lifeless. It's a reflex, now, to bite back the vomit that pools into my mouth. I hear myself trying to placate True with half-hearted "Just breathe"s but it's like I'm underwater. With every blink I'm watching Wilkes vanish into nothingness, watching Minka fall and freeze, watching Kerri's shoulder explode in a shower of red, and my brother—  
  
We don't realize that she’s released another Pokémon until Britt is out on the field in front of us, the stadium lights reflecting off her polished cannons. Her eyes look down on Julian—still unmoving but _no_ , there's a quiet panicked fluttering in his chest. That's enough for True to pull out his ball and recall him, to slam her hand and Julian's ball into the emergency chute, leaving Britt and Skava as the only bodies on the field.  
  
There's a cold fury in Britt's eyes when she turns to look at True—no, to _me_. And then to True. "Tell me when to shoot."  
  
True wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. It takes her a while to stand back up; when she does, her back is stiff and her shoulders are set and there's a cold fury in her eyes. “Surf."  
  
Water shoots upward from Britt’s shining cannons, more and more and more even though it doesn’t come close to brushing against the flying fossil. Skava only just manages to avoid the first blast but is grazed by a second blast along the side of his left wing—but even that almost-contact is enough to slow the Aerodactyl down, or to at least throw him off his game, because he has to work twice as hard to keep himself aloft.  
  
I can hear the smirk in Britt's voice when she asks, “Go?”  
  
“Go.”  
  
And all the water that had gathered on the ground shoots up in a colossal wave that reaches up, almost hand-like, as it grabs the Aerodactyl and slams it to solid ground again. Water spills out past the painted lines, unable to soak into the ground. Skava is moaning as he writhes before finally going still.  
  
There is no good humor gleaming in Lance’s eye as he recalls the stone bird into its ball. “Will you be continuing the fight, challenger?”  
  
Britt only turns around to stare right into True’s eyes. There is a silent exchange between them. True’s shuddering breath shakes her entire body. “I can't lose you."  
  
Britt's eyes are golden fire, two burning suns. "You won't."  
  
Green eyes latch onto me like I’m a life raft, and she’s drowning. I can’t get Julian’s look of surprise out of my head, but he's in the hands of the nurses in the Pokémon Center. We can't do anything for him now. So I nod.  
  
“Then we’ll go,” True says. She steels herself and looks right up at Lance. “We’ll fight.”  
  
Lance nods and simply flings an Ultra Ball high into the air. White energy crackles and forms into a huge, golden figure, the stuff of old legends. It's only because I've seen them side-by-side do I see the similarities in the Dragonair and this towering beast: the rounded muzzle, the slip of a tail, the great roundness of the eyes. The elegance of its previous form has been replaced by a rounded strength; the Dragonite opens its huge eyes and sings its roar, and the audience nearly loses itself in anticipation and delight.  
  
True is newly hesitant. Britt must see it reflected in the screens because she turns her head toward us with an all-too-familiar smirk on her face but a new warmness in her eyes. “Trust me.”  
  
My breath hitches in my throat.  
  
“Kaeldra,” Lance calls. “Be careful with her.”  
  
That fleeting gentle look in Britt's eyes dies as she comes to stand in front of the Dragonite. “You want a fight, you fat banana fuck? Come and get it.”  
  
The golden Dragonite bows her head and bolts right to the Blastoise. They collide like colliding cars, with a resounding thud that leaves me breathless.  
  
In the old days Pokémon would fight just like this: no elemental attacks, no flashy movements. Just fists against jaws, fangs in skin, tails against spines. Britt and Kaeldra trade blows with a power that stuns—I don’t hear the crowd, but I don’t know if it’s because they’ve fallen silent or because I’m too captivated by this display of brute force. Kaeldra can find no purchase with her tail against Britt’s hard shell; Britt’s bites and shoves seem to do little against the dragon’s hard, scaly skin. Water sprays with every twist and thud of limbs and tails. They lock hands and bash their heads together; each comes back up with blood on their foreheads, captured gleefully by cameras and blown up to vivid detail on the screens. There’s a desperate fire in Britt’s eyes that I can’t help turn away from. It burns just like Jackson’s Flamethrower.  
  
Kaeldra hisses something low—but Britt understands, because she roars and bashes her head forward again. The two let go of their paws; the Dragonite is cradling her head and even Britt looks dazed, one eye twitching.  
  
And then something in the air changes; my ears and tail shoot straight up. The stadium is closed, there’s a heavy dome above our heads, there are no windows to the outside—but it feels so much like a lightning storm here. The Dragonite’s long wispy antennae begin crackling with a blue-white energy; I don’t choose to stand up straighter but I do, fixated on the sight and choking on a trembling, "Move out, Britt."  
  
True is grabbing the railing in front of her for dear life. “Bli—”  
  
But Lance cuts in. “Thunder.”  
  
The stadium lights up and blinds. But I can hear everything: Britt’s moans that evolve into a piercing scream; the thump of Kaeldra’s tail against the tiled floor; the echoing crash of a heavy body onto the ground. And when I open my eyes, my heart thundering outside my chest, it isn't the Dragonite on the ground.  
  
There's ash on her brown shell. The tops of her arms have been scorched black. Her eyes are closed. There is no expression on her face. She isn't moving.  
  
I hear True's sharp intake of breath and see her hands grip the railing. "She has to get up," she whispers.  
  
We can't lose two in one match. We can't--we can't lose _Britt_. Not after she's been such a hard ass, not after smashing the windows in through Silph, not after Victory Road, not after training, not after she'd promised True—promised _me_ —  
  
The barrier doesn't fall; I learn that the hard way with a sharp explosion to my nose as I dive off the podium. There's a smear of blood against the invisible wall; I look down and see my paw speckled with red.  
  
I can't lose someone like this, me on the opposite side of a screen, not again.  
  
Is the audience cheering? Does Lance have sound-proof barriers like Agatha? I can only hear my rapid breathing and True's body shifting and the temperature dropping around us. I turn around to see thick, messy tears streaming down her face, her body staggered between the front and the side of the trainer's booth. She's trembling like a leaf and her eyes are so glassy and bright that I actually turn away from the battlefield.  
  
That's when I hear the twin clicks, the rush of air, Kaeldra's surprised scream.  
  
The Dragonite is standing only feet away from Britt, one gigantic paw held out tentatively in front of her--a gigantic paw that is covered with frost and is useless to shield the rest of her body from the oncoming gust of frozen wind that's bursting from Britt's twin cannons. Ice slaps against Kaeldra and coats the ground, leaving scales and tile shimmering and slick. One frozen body falls to the ground, thrashing against this unexpected blow—the other, shaking and unsteady but present and magnetic, rises.  
  
And Britt is standing on her own two feet, and the cameras are focused on her face--her eyes are unfocused but bright, and her mouth is agape, and her fists are trembling. The Blizzard sputters and fades into nothingness but it doesn't matter anymore. Kaeldra is on the ground, dazed and groaning and with her two paws held in an 'x' above her chest—now Kaeldra is being recalled in a flash of red—now the barrier has fallen.  
  
This must be how Lorelei gets her stadium so cold and slick, by blowing Blizzard after Blizzard on top of everything. I slide twice before coming to Britt's feet, Britt who looks at me with a composed resolution. The audience is screaming; I don't need the screens to know that they're on their feet and hugging each other in surprise and ecstasy. That's what they always do, even when the victorious Pokémon looks like they're about to collapse at any moment.  
  
"T'ld you I'd do't," she says, her words slurred but determined.  
  
I only have a second to process this before she starts to fall forward—and disappears in a flash of red light. I am dazed and have to remember that there is more than the battlefield. True is holding Britt's ball in a hand that shakes so badly I'm worried she'll drop it. But she doesn't, she slams it down into the emergency chute and watches it disappear with her shoulders shaking.  
  
Lance's voice comes over the loud speakers. "Congratulations, True Fargone, on having defeated the Elite Four. On behalf of High Champion Mancon I name you—"  
  
"I need to go," she whispers.  
  
I'm running toward her before she's even finished the last word. I jump straight from the tiled ground to her arms, and she seizes me. The crowd is crying out in confusion. But there's a glimmer of understanding in Lance's eyes as he watches us bolt from the trainer's booth and down into the tunnel. We don't have to walk far to be met by someone else: McKey is waiting for us with a gentle expression on his face. [I will take you to the Pokémon Center now.]  
  
True only has to grab his hand for us to vanish.  
  


* * *

  
There's a private wing in the Pokémon Center just for challengers of the Elite Four. The halls are undecorated and silent save for the puttering feet of the nurses and doctors and assistant Pokémon. The only benefit I can begin to think of is that inside here, we're safe from the prying and expectant eyes of the media.  
  
I'm used to being in a bed in the Pokémon Center, not sitting awkwardly beside True on the uncomfortable bench just outside the ICU. We wait for a sign, a whisper, anything to let us know that Julian and Britt will be alright. But there's a clock here and I've stared at it, it's been an hour since McKey dropped us off in this exact spot.  
  
True has her hands clasped in front of her head. She's stopped rocking back and forth, and now is murmuring furious prayers under her breath. I keep getting distracted by the way the white lights shine on the white walls, how everything looks bleached and lackluster. This does not inspire health. It does nothing but make me anxious.  
  
It can only be doing the same to True, who has her hands buried so deeply in her hair that I worry they'll get stuck there. I take a deep breath. "I—"  
  
"Don't," she whimpers.  
  
Most of the staff leaves us alone, either too busy with their own tasks to pay us any mind or only too aware of the circumstances that bring us here. I'm thankful for it. It's been so long since I've stood inside a Pokémon Center waiting for news of a teammate—I hadn't been there for the bulk of Clara's recovery. Arceus, who _had_ I been there for? Britt had had her feet burned in the Cinnabar Gym but that had been mostly outpatient recovery, and she's the only one I can think of.  
  
"So. You're here."  
  
The hard voice makes me jump; True doesn't even flinch. Carlotta approaches slowly, warily, her eyes scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair newly frazzled. She's traded her high heels for pale flats—she seems more comfortable, as much as anyone can be here. There's a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.  
  
One of True's hands untangles from her hair—a tangled mess now, after so much time grabbing at it—to wipe her eyes. "Your team…?"  
  
"They're all going to make it," the woman says. "It'll be a long time before they'll be able to battle again, though. Paulie might never recover all the way. My Rapidash," she says, when I open my mouth.  
  
"I'm sorry," True says.  
  
"Yeah," Carlotta says, and takes a sip of her drink. "Yours?"  
  
"They're still," True starts to say, but shakes her head.  
  
Carlotta settles into the small bench in front of us, smoothing her skirt with a steady hand. Her nails have been bitten to the quicks, and I recognize blood along the edges. "I found a TV to watch the match. You made it through."  
  
But for what?  
  
"He's going to want to come in and talk with you, you know. Lance." Our incredulous eyes make Carlotta chuckle bitterly. "It's a thing they have to do, I guess, if your Pokémon get really injured. Not like they can do anything about it. We signed the paperwork. What's done is done."  
  
True rubs the side of her face and stares at Carlotta. "Why…?"  
  
"To make themselves feel better about injuring our partners? I don't know." She leans against the white wall, a creature of marble, and sighs. "No one gave me a warning, so. Thought I'd pay it forward."  
  
The unexpected kindness robs me of words. But True seems to have tucked them into her pocket, because she offers them like a token to the girl in front of us. "Thank you."  
  
She shrugs. "Mind if I sit around here? They took Heron into surgery and sedated everyone else, and I don't like being in there by myself."  
  
True shakes her head. "Make yourself comfortable."  
  
It's a different kind of silence from the waiting room under the stadiums. There, True and Carlotta had been divided, two competitors fighting for one prize. But here they're united, wrapped up in the fates of their battling partners. Carlotta switches between pacing and sitting on her stool, rubbing her finger along the capped rim of her cup. True fishes out a protein bar from the bottom of her backpack and only takes a few bites of it. They don't talk; they don't need to. Mostly they just stare into their laps, waiting.  
  
I am the first to notice the nurse who walks toward us, her face unnaturally neutral. She practically stands right in front of True before softly calling her name. True lifts her head, her eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy, but asks nothing.  
  
"If you'll come with me," says the nurse.  
  
My place is on True's shoulder. True allows me to settle there before she stands up, clumsily shouldering her backpack. Carlotta doesn't wish us well and I don't expect her to, but she does nod as we walk away.  
  
We have to walk down a few hallways, each painted the same sickly white. I see a few pictures, mostly copies from the waiting room: teams pre-tragedy, either stoic and composed or unabashedly excited. They don't have names underneath their photos but I think I recognize them, their names all blur together: Natalie, Zoe, Blair, Niels, Chika, Jay, Anna—  
  
"They're both in here," the nurse says. I'm just barely aware of us being in front of a door before it's pushed open.  
  
The very first thing I notice is the back wall, a giant window that floods dusky red light into the room. Not even the string of electric yellow lights can totally take away the color. There are six beds, and beside each of these beds there are an assortment of monitors and equipment—and I realize with a start that the six beds are for the six of us battlers. There's even one for me, a tiny thing with an electricity generator clasped to the bed frame.  
  
The two beds closest to the window have been sectioned off by curtains, but as a Chansey adjusts the white lining I catch sight of a familiar blue foot. True squeezes past the pink Pokémon, who squeals with alarm, to stand beside the bed. There are wires implanted in the crooks of her arms, so many wires, all connected to beeping machines. Her eyes are closed, her mouth limp and parted by a thick tube. It is the most vulnerable and—can I even begin to think it?—the _weakest_ I have ever seen her.  
  
True reaches out her hand to brush the metallic lip of Britt's shell, like she's hoping this is all a horrible dream and touch is the trigger for waking. But if she's sleeping then I have to be too. Do dreams connect in tandem like that? Is it possible?  
  
"Many Pokémon fall to Kaeldra," the nurse says. "Your Blastoise is lucky. She's going to be sore for a _very_ long time but we think, given a lot of rest, she's going to make a full recovery."  
  
Some of the tension drains from True's shoulders; she places a tentative hand on the top of Britt's head, gently strokes her ear the way she never would be able to if Britt were conscious. Satisfied, she turns to the nurse. "And Julian?"  
  
I turn and stare so intently at the nurse's face that it might melt off any second. It is for this reason, and this reason only, that I see her eyes darken as she pulls us behind the curtain.  
  
There aren't any wires on his body but he's encased in a red dome of light, one I've only ever seen in pictures for "serious cases." I can't really focus on anything but that contrast, the light against the dark. He's flooded by it. I have to look harder to see the white gauze against against his red-tinted skin. Every one of this poisonous points has been capped with little plastic nubs, round and unthreatening. His eyes are closed and there's a serenity to his expression that I have never, ever seen before.  
  
"The damage was extensive," the nurse says softly. "A Thunder or even a Hyper Beam to the chest is one thing, but a blowback attack… recovery for him isn't going to be as easy as it will be for your Blastoise.  
  
But he's here. I can hear him breathing. Death happens so quickly in battle, if it were really that serious he would have just… been _gone_ on that battlefield. He wouldn't be lingering like this.  
  
"Then why," True starts, and licks her lips to put words in order. "Is he even…?"  
  
"We sedated him. He's alive, but…" The nurse takes a deep breath. "It's very likely that you'll have to say goodbye."  
  
He _shouldn't_ be lingering like this.  
  
"Can he hear me right now?" she asks.  
  
"We don't know," says the nurse. "We're able to bring him to consciousness if you'd like. He's full of painkillers so he won't feel much of anything. He might not be able to understand what's going on, but he'd see you."  
  
But I take a look around this room, with its white walls and beeping machines, and I know. There's no way Julian would wake up and not panic in this place, and that's if he didn't notice the wires and the tape and the medical staff.  
  
"Can I have a chair," True whimpers.  
  
And suddenly, miraculously, one appears. I don’t see where the Chansey gets the small thing from but she sets it down, a tiny plastic thing that wouldn't fit a skinny thirteen-year-old, never mind True. But she settles into it, unaware or just not thinking of it. Her eyes are only for the sleeping behemoth in front of her.  
  
I settle in the space where his other arm should be, and it's more than enough.  
  
True's hands are greedy for Julian, ghosting over his barbed ears and sharp jaw and pointed teeth. She touches every inch of him she can get to from her chair, as if trying to commit him to memory. And part of me wants him to react, to flinch from or lean into her touch. But he is silent, lifeless stone between the two of us.  
  
"You don't need to say that you can hear me," she whispers. "I know."  
  
I'm waiting for a bomb to drop, for a herd of thundering Tauros to break through the window. It is too peaceful. I'm too used to gunshots and chaotic hallways and explosions in mountains to be comfortable in this well-lit room, surrounded by calm and patient faces—and True, who is giving a eulogy to a Pokémon who's technically _alive_ in her hands instead of crying over corpses.  
  
"We wouldn't have won without you. Those Dragonair hardly had a chance to attack before you took them down. I think they're okay," she says softly. "But I don't know if you are. If you will be or if it's just—"  
  
She breaks off. And I can't even look at her anymore because what happens if I start crying too? And why am I thinking of fairy tales and magic when I know, when I had _known_ since the Hyper Beam, that we'd end up here?  
  
Somehow, everyone always end up right here.  
  
True has one hand over her mouth and the other cupping Julian's cheek, letting the tears fall down her cheeks. She whispers "what do I do" over and over again, each word more broken than the last, and with every repetition I come to hate these white walls and red dome more and more. I know injuries like these. If Julian ever wakes up again he won't ever be the same. He won't be able to battle. I doubt he'd be able to move.  
  
I take a shuddering breath and begin to sing.  
  
I have long forgotten the words, or maybe it never had any lyrics at all. But the melody has always stayed with me, in a hidden place I rarely reach into anymore. It's a Sinnoh death dirge, sung over the buried bodies of the dead before we bury them in the night. It is Kanto custom to burn the dead and then do something with the ashes: store them, scatter them, make jewelry from them. Minka's ashes are still in that urn Chris had given us; Kerri and Peter's remains had been mixed with concrete to make their headstones; Wilkes had left nothing behind to burn. Is there a communal space where the Pokémon who had fallen in battle to the Elite Four have their ashes scattered? Will a space be reserved for Julian, separated from us but joined forever to the almost-legends? I don't know and I hate not knowing, because if I know then True can know, and maybe we can begin to heal before we've even assessed all of our wounds.  
  
True's eyes are a heavy weight on me. I've never sang this song in front of her but she recognizes it, I know it by the dull light of her eyes. She knows what she needs to do, and I know what she needs to do.  
  
"It feels like throwing him away," she whispers. And what the hell do I say to that?  
  
"If you'd rather," the nurse says, "we can put him into his ball. There's a machine—"  
  
True pivots on her chair so fast that she nearly topples over; I think she would have if she hadn't been clinging to the bed so hard. "We're not short circuiting him," True snarls, like she's facing Agatha again. I look up and growl too, because I've seen the machines—I've seen them fail, too. To put Julian in a machine and end him feels wrong, and not just it's Julian.  
  
"Okay," the nurse says. "Okay."  
  
She turns her back to us and pulls a tiny syringe from True, whose hands are still cupping Julian's face, answers it with a tiny nod and a shaking breath. And we both watch as the Chansey takes the delicate thing—there has to be something in it, but it's so clear I can see myself in it—and with no words she inserts the needle into the shoulder of Julian's whole arm and pushes the plunger down.  
  
It is a serene death, a peaceful death. A finality. The only change between a limboing Julian and a dead one is the soft sigh that rushes out of him. True pushes her forehead against his and loses it, bawls and shakes and holds Julian's draping ears in her quivering hands. It is the most I've ever seen her touch him.  
  
I ache so badly for Minka, who would have wrapped her up in her vines and held her close and whispered a lullaby. She would have known the right words to say, she would have coached Julian into a better understanding of the human world and these artificial battlefields. Do they meet now? Do Kanto souls come under Arceus's watchful eye, or is Mew the one who ferries their souls? Why had I never asked Wilkes, who had so badly wanted a second death, the circumstances of his first?  
  
The questions torture me long after True has cried herself out and fallen asleep between Britt and Julian's beds, curled into a ball on that tiny, rickety chair that's two sizes too small. The nurse and her Chansey have long disappeared by now, leaving the four—the _three_ of us. Because the body turned red by the setting sun isn't Julian anymore, the way the pile of ash and bones ten years ago was no longer my brother.  
  
And it's the thought of Al not even having made it this far, to a room with a peaceful goodbye, that makes me leap down from my spot next to Julian. I do not think of leaving a goodbye note to True. All I want is to run. I _need_ to run, to sprint as far and as fast away from here as I can. It's just a jump to reach the knob, a quick turn to unlock the door, a tiny push to close it again. I sprint around corners, down corridors, looking for a door to the outside.  
  
"...the last person she'll want to see..."  
  
"...thought that he could take it..."  
  
Voices. I follow them.  
  
"...me handle it..."  
  
I run into feet and skid into a wall. The back of my head hurts but I look up. Lance's pained eyes are the first things I see.  
  
Chris's eyes are the last, before I black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Casey Thunderbolt, Gyarados FAINT_  
>  Julian Ice Beam, Dragonair Slam//Julian Ice Beam CRIT, Dragonair FAINT  
> Julian Ice Beam CRIT, Dragonair FAINT  
> Aerodactyl Hyper Beam CRIT, Julian Faint//Aerodactyl Wing Attack, Britt Blizzard//Aerodactyl Wing Attack CRIT, Britt Surf, Aerodactyl FAINT  
> Britt Hyper Potion, Dragonite Thunder//Britt Hyper Potion, Dragonite Thunder PARZ//Britt Full Restore, Dragonite Thunder//Britt Hyper Potion, Dragonite Thunder MISS//Dragonite Thunder, Britt Blizzard, Dragonite FAINT
> 
>  
> 
> Did anyone else read Susan Fletcher's dragon novels? Because I totally did as a kid. Skava and Kaeldra are referencAlso, everyone should read that book.
> 
> So. That Gen I Hyper Beam. Lance is dangerous enough without the speed/crit mechanics, and the no resting period with a KO. I don't think anyone on the team could have tanked that, not even Britt with her high defense. Honestly I'm shocked that I managed to get off with two Wing Attacks instead of a second or third Hyper Beam, because I probably would have wiped right then and there. So thanks, shitty AI? I guess? AND THEN. THE DRAGONITE. I don't know how I didn't get a crit on those Thunders either, but I got lucky and Britt tanked the fuck out of them while I waited for a miss. I got one, and wham bam thank you ma'am I got a win. At a horrible cost. I know that Julian didn't spend a lot of time in the narrative and I apologize for that. He was a fun one to write for in the very, very short time I had him, and I'll miss him.
> 
> I know this chapter feels exceptionally long with everything that happened. And you'd be correct--the word count per chapter has been creeping up with every E4 battle, but this one takes the cake at _9.2k words_. But everything that happened in this chapter was important and needed to be addressed, and the good news about written fiction--and not, say, TV shows--is that I can make things as long or short as I want, and dwell or not dwell on things as much as I want. I worked hard to accent each powerful moment--especially Julian's fall and Britt's badass ass-kicking--and hopefully I was able to pull it off. I guess I'll find out!
> 
> We're slowly but surely reaching the end of things now, lovelies. Next stop: a much-needed heart-to-heart.


	85. Chapter Seventy-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

Everything’s white when I open my eyes.  
  
Or no, not white. A yellowy-white, right above my head. I blink further. Ceiling light on a tiled ceiling, which is puckered but otherwise featureless. There’s a low hum to my left—machines? Yes, I can sense the electricity humming through them. I check my body. No wires but a strange fullness in my cheeks.  
  
Something shifts; there’s a long shadow flitting against the walls. I squeak out a threat but it doesn’t do any good, it keeps approaching. The walls get pushed aside. But they’re not walls, they’re curtains. And the big blue-green eyes that are looking down at me from an orange face are familiar in their shape, not in their lack of ferocity.  
  
It’s not his hands that place themselves on me. I nearly bite into the shaking hand, flinching against the unexpected touch, before recognizing True. She looks at me with surprise and just the tiniest bit of fear; she makes sure I'm following when she runs a finger down my back.  
  
That simple touch, that knowledge that I almost _hurt_ her, destroys what control I have left. Suddenly my body is shaking and my mouth is dry, too dry, and closing up and surely my heart is beating out of my chest right now, I don't feel it in me but against me. Everything's wet and slippery and I don't feel solid, I need to be held I need I _need_ —  
  
And I get. Suddenly I'm against her chest, with my head on her breast and above her own jumping heart. I can feel my fur crackling with static electricity—she should be flinching away, I am _dangerous_. But she doesn't. She holds me like it’s the simplest thing in the world.  
  
Somewhere in the back of my mind I know the word for this helplessness, but what matters right now is the feeling. True guides me with her breathing and I follow it, hold onto the pattern like a lifeline. I had retreated into myself and curled up into a corner but my panic has never gotten to this stage before. This familiarity comes from reading the few books the laboratory library had on panic attacks, from years of guiding True through hers.  
  
For a moment I think back, years and years ago, when True had been having her first attacks. She would hold me so tight that I couldn't breathe or move. Someone, I don't remember who and probably never will, saw and told her off. And I had told them that it was fine, because I'd known. She needed something solid in her arms that wouldn't slip away. I didn't object to it because I needed it too, that solid certainty. And for a moment, with my body shivering and my tongue dry and my paws catching strings on her shirt, I wonder if this beast that's collapsing my lungs and draining my energy away is the same one that True's spent years fighting. And if it is, how could she not have given up already? And if it isn't, is it similar? And either way, do I need to know?  
  
It is seconds, years, lifetimes before I can feel my heart pounding firmly in my chest again, before my nails have stopped pulling the strings of her jacket. And when I finally look up there is a gentle expression on True's face, a silent knowing that makes her look older than sixteen. I hate myself for thinking it, but it reminds me of her father.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" she whispers, her own voice raw.   
  
My own skin feels angry and exposed, rubbed against guilt. "I'm sorry I left you, I couldn't—I had to—"  
  
"I know," she says, and strokes my temple. "I know."  
  
It still takes me time to orient myself. I take my surroundings in through teary eyes. We're right back in our hospital room; Britt's still attached to her wires, still silent and unmoving. Light is still flooding in from the giant wall of windows, milky instead of red. I'm starting to think that maybe nothing has changed, but I look to Julian's bed and see that his body has already been moved, the equipment has been pushed back against the white walls. It's like he wasn't even here at all.  
  
True's been following my eyes. "They took him an hour ago," she says. "The… he’s supposed to be ready for us in a day."  
  
Clara shrinks back against Jackson, burying the tip of her beak into her breast feathers. He doesn't look much better, with his eyes wide and fearful. The last time I had seen him in a Pokémon Center like this had been just after the SS Anne, and he had nearly tried to bite my head off for fear. I can't even blame him. I'm used to being inside human buildings but there's nothing comforting about this room, with six beds for the six of us.  
  
No. Not six anymore.  
  
Hyde is the one to break the fragile silence. “You’re feeling better?”  
  
I don’t know if “better” is the word for it, but I nod. "You’re all…?”  
  
Clara shakes her head with a long sigh. Jackson, having satisfied his curiosity, moves away from my bed and beyond the curtain. I only have to furrow my brow for True to push the curtains back and reveal Jackson standing awkwardly beside Britt’s bed.  
  
"She's never this quiet," Jackson whimpers. He reaches forward and I almost stop him, but I don't think he'd listen to words and I'm in no place to chide or fight him now. He touches her cheek with the very tips of his claws, hardly any contact at all. It's enough to tear him down still further. He bends forward and presses his nose to her shoulder, chuffs something soft under his breath.  
  
True's quiet eyes meet mine, seeking permission to leave. My heart's a dull thumping in my chest again, and I can breathe, so I nod. She sets me back down on my bed, really no larger than a loveseat, to stand awkwardly beside Jackson. "Listen to me," True says. "She's going to be okay. She's going—"  
  
"To never get some sleep if you all don't shut up."  
  
I can't see her face from the head of my bed. Moving doesn't hurt like I thought it would. Clara sees me and offers her shoulder; I latch on, digging my nails into the long pale feathers. She comes right up to the other side of Jackson, whose nose is pressed firmly against her cheek. Britt, hazy-eyed and grumbly, looks taken aback by this unexpected show of affection, and honestly I don't blame her. The others come to crowd around her but True has to push them back, repeating "Give her space, she's okay." Jackson doesn't heed her command. I'm not surprised.  
  
"S'with the funeral," Britt groans, making a feeble attempt to brush Jackson away. "Not dead yet."  
  
It's a quick jab to this new elation. Britt recognizes is, takes a look around the room and at the newly empty bed behind us, and sighs. I think she knew when she'd come onto that battlefield. "But Lance is done. Right?"  
  
"You beat him," True says softly, fondly, and brushes her hand lightly along the top of her shell. "That fight with the Dragonite, I thought I'd lose you, too."  
  
"Like you'd get rid of me that easily," she huffs. And we laugh and laugh until relief feels like happiness, unmarred by destruction or loss. Clara laughs so hard that she squeaks, and we laugh at that too. We spiral down and down into fits, and it seems so odd in this room where Julian had died, where Chris—  
  
Someone knocks on the door, two rapid-fire bursts. My brow furrows. True turns toward the door and sighs before looking down at me. "If you don't want... he..."  
  
There is only one person it could be.  
  
I could refuse to see him. I could make him stand out there while I pull myself together, which would take however long it needed to take—minutes or hours or days, even, because what's a final battle without one of the qualifying trainers? And then we could just walk right past him like he wasn't the High Champion, like he wasn't the reason we're here in the first place. But no. We're here because we wanted to be here. We signed the forms. We became part of the killing machine. _I_ became part of the machine. And it would make me the worst kind of hypocrite to ignore that part of myself that isn't really new, that had always been there.  
  
So I nod my head. And True calls his name. And he comes in.  
  
He'd looked thirty stretched out on the floor of his arena, with Tanza and the radio playing that song. The past few days have aged him further still; there are dark bags under his eyes and there's a new hollowness in his face. He moves like he hasn't slept in weeks, and maybe there's some truth in that. He settles down on one of the beds, bracing his knees with his huge hands—hands that had once held me close to his chest, hands that had been gentle and rough and familiar. I don't recognize them. I haven't for a while.  
  
His voice cracks twice before he's able to get a sentence out. "Normally Lance is the one who'd be here right now. But…"  
  
"But it's us," I whisper. "And me. Right?"  
  
True tries to shush me gently, but Chris holds a hand up to stop her. "It's okay. He's right."  
  
A silence falls awkwardly around us. True is looking anxiously between me and Chris, and her arms shift between holding me firm against her chest and relaxing so I hang limp in her embrace. I don't know which position I want more, so I continue to rock between them. The only thing that's constant is Chris, still seated like a statue in front of us. "I had hoped we'd go a year without an accident like this. That's always been my goal. You'd think that in ten years we'd figure it out," he laughs, and it's a bitter sound, "Maybe we never will, and this is the price we have to pay."  
  
"Some price," Britt groans.  
  
"You're telling me." He sighs. "As the Elite Four member who…”  
  
I interrupt. "Killed Julian." The words are too sharp for this intimate setting; they puncture the fragile peace Chris is trying to build. "Don't sugarcoat it."  
  
True sighs. "Casey, don't."  
  
But Chris nods. “Lance is supposed to walk you through your options. Cremation is traditional. Unless you have your own rituals—“  
  
Minka’s ashes are still in the urn in True’s backpack. We'd talked about scattering her somewhere, right? I don't think I had dreamed that conversation.  
  
“…a memorial forest in the Indigo Plateau. Their ashes become part of a tree. We take very, very good care of them.”  
  
I don't know… _hadn't_ known Julian well enough to know what he would have wanted. But being part of a tree sounds peaceful enough. Better than being a headstone in Lavender Tower, like Kerri and Peter. Better than being trapped in an urn.  
  
The question pops out of my mouth: "Is that what you did with him?"  
  
He doesn't feign ignorance, which I'm thankful for. He nods. “He's a big oak tree. There's an official ceremony where every willing challenger plants the trees. If… if you decide to come, I'll show you Al's."  
  
There is an entire history here that we both have lived but never shared with each other. I haven’t felt the heaviness of it more greatly than I do now, when I look in his eyes and ask, “What happened to her?” When Chris arches his brow, I breathe deeply. “The… last High Champion.”  
  
His wary eyes look down at me. "You don't know?"  
  
“I never paid attention before…" Well. _Before._ "And after, I just wanted you to go away.” I look right up at him, into those hazel eyes, and take a deep breath. "I need to know."  
  
Just that tiny hint of a smile, that faint whisper of a chuckle, makes him recognizable again. But it fades like a spark as he closes his eyes. "You know the difference between a High Champion and a Champion?" he asks.  
  
“Oh, I do!” Hyde interjects. “Regular Champions get to go around and travel, and High Champions… um…”  
  
“Help to lead the region,” True answers softly.  
  
Chris nods. "Imagine if you had a new person every year who had their own idea of handling League affairs. Taxes on Pokémon Centers and Marts, safety standards, catching embargoes, gym leader appointments. Just when everyone gets used to the new rules, someone else comes along and changes everything. And that someone else may be a great battler, but they don't know the first thing about governing. They're two different skill sets. That's why you have a High Champion to keep things somewhat stable for a few years, until they retire or are removed by the committee.  
  
"The High Champion before her, a man named Kirk Albright, died suddenly a few months before the main competition. Since Frances was the last person to beat him, she was brought in as a temporary replacement. She did it for the prestige, not to rule a region. She was a battler, and she was a good one. Probably one of the best I've ever seen. But High Championship wasn't her strength."  
  
"You make it sound like you're defending her," Britt says.  
  
I wait for the "No." It doesn't come. His eyes shift away and he hangs his head in his hands, grasping strands of brown hair. I furrow my brow and keep staring at him. "She _killed him_ ," I repeat.  
  
"It's more complicated than that," he says softly.  
  
Holy fuck, he _is_ defending her. Anger paralyzes me to the point that I can only stare at Chris, gobsmacked and seething. Though I can’t see True’s face I can feel the tension in her arms. But it’s Britt, who had just nearly been killed on a battlefield, who growls and demands an explanation.  
  
“Do you know why there are so few legitimate Dragon Masters left in the world?” Chris grasps his hands so tightly that the knuckles turn white. “The Pokémon they train are so powerful that sometimes they lose control of themselves. People die. Only a handful of people know how to handle the pure dragons. Most trainers who want that sort of raw power go for the lesser dragons, because they're more accessible and aren't quite so violent. Gyarados, and Sceptile,” he says, and looks to my left. “And Charizard.”  
  
He’s looking at Jackson, who snarls.  
  
"A lot of care was taken by the professor to breed domesticated Charmander so that they'd be safe for starting trainers. But they're still lesser dragons. And the wild Charizard are still just as dangerous as any Pokémon. And they breed with other Pokémon species. And _they_ breed with other species."  
  
I had seen papers from a researcher in Johto about breeding and the passing along of abnormal traits to mixed offspring. But I'm still struggling to find the connection. "Arcanine aren't dragons at all, though. Charizard I can see, and maybe even Arbok, but…"  
  
"You'll have to speak to Blaine about it, he'll know more than I do. But that's beside the point. This may have started with the dragons, but with time and breeding it's turned into something else. _Any_ Pokémon undergoing severe stress in battle can lose control and go after anything that's in front of them. Sometimes they even attack themselves."  
  
I hear True's sharp intake of breath as my heart stops. "But that… that sounds like—"  
  
"Confusion," I whisper, horrified.  
  
How often had I thought about the sudden snap between the gentle, guiding Cassidy, and the feral Vaporeon who had lost it in the hallways of Silph? The curled lip, the dark eyes, the horrible gnashing of teeth? Only a slight recognition when I had been right up in front of her, before she'd turned on Minka? Before she'd turned on me?  
  
Confusion had made a monster out of Cassidy, who had cuddled with children and had the patience of a saint. I know what that Arcanine had been in the heat of the moment—what had he been before?  
  
"It wasn't anyone's fault," True whispers. "But she still…?"  
  
Chris closes his eyes. "Her Pokémon went mad, killed a Pokémon and nearly tried to kill a challenger. And she didn't stop it." He laughs bitterly. "She crossed the line. That was enough for the panel to vote her out of High Championship."  
  
"And you took her place," True says softly.  
  
Chris rests his chin on the tips of his fingers, like he’s in prayer. "I didn't want what happened to Al… what happened to _me_ , happen to anybody else. I did all I could to make battles safer. And if this is as good as I can do, just a few Pokémon dying instead of ten or twenty... It's time for someone new to take over. Maybe they'll be able to do something I can't."  
  
Can you hate someone when you've seen their point of view? Can you even be angry at them? I feel so weighted down by this new information that I slump against the bed. My legs are shaking like I've been running all over again.  
  
"But you shouldn't worry about that right now," Chris says. “You need to be resting.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks at True. “Britt will need to stay here, but as long as you think Casey’s fighting fit, he’s free to go. Just be gentle with him.”  
  
There's nothing physically wrong with me. I'm just weakened by this new understanding.  
  
"Arceus be with you," he says, and turns toward the door.  
  
"Wait," True calls out, and reaches out. Her fingers accidentally brush over Chris's arm and I swear I see him wince. True's eyes flicker between Chris's face and his arm before she pulls back her hand. "I'm sorry, I just—what happens now? I heard you weren't going to be battling whoever got through the Elite Four, so does that…?"  
  
"The day after tomorrow there's going to be a final exhibition match between you and the other competitor. Whoever wins that match will be in the selection pool for the next High Champion."  
  
It's as good a confirmation as the Battle Network: Gary made it through his final fight. We're going to be facing him for the title of High Champion. Cassidy's going to be fighting.  
  
"Take this time to recover and prepare your strategy." He takes a deep breath and extends his hand to True. "Good luck."  
  
True takes it hesitantly, shaking a few times before timidly dropping her hand. "You too."  
  
Chris's smile is wider, more like the boy I'd known. It fades a little when he turns to look at me. "See you later, then," he says, before pushing back the curtain and walking out of the room.  
  
"See you," I say weakly, and watch him go.  
  
Now the others are noticing, and they're looking at me with confusion making lines in their faces. I take a deep breath and look up at True. "Did you know?"  
  
True's hesitant eyes meet mine. "Only what I learned in history class. Frances Byrnne was stripped of her trainer's rights, both in Kanto and Johto. One day she just… disappeared. There were searches for a long time, but no one ever came up with anything. Either she died in the woods or just got really good at hiding."  
  
It isn't enough to make me feel sorry for her. Standing by and doing _nothing_ is still murder. I can still hate Frances Byrnne. But I don't know if I can hate Goliath the Arcanine anymore, the way I can't hate Cassidy.  
  
I don't know if I can hate Chris, either, and that's just as exhausting.  
  
"What do we do now?" Hyde asks.  
  
I have to fight to pull myself out of these memories. In the present, there are five people and Pokémon looking at me—in sadness, in confusion, in understanding. I'm not the one who makes this sort of decision; that's something only True can do. So I look up at her and blink.  
  
But before True can say anything, Britt clears her throat. "You fight," Britt says firmly. "I didn't get electrocuted for you all to quit while we're ahead."  
  
Are we ahead, though? Are we prepared to go up against Gary, who was able to _sweep_ Lance's team with just one Pokémon? With _Cassidy_? How can she be so confident when we're down, per League rules, two Pokémon?  
  
"Britt," True says softly, "you know you can't compete in the final match."  
  
"I know." I'm expecting a flash of fury in her eyes, but all I see is resignation. "But I cleared the path. You're strong enough to take him down. Now all you need to do is not fuck things up."  
  
"We won't," Jackson says softly. "We'll win for you."  
  
But Britt shakes her head. "Win for her," she tells him, glancing over to True. "And win for _you_."  
  


* * *

  
We spend the night in the Pokémon Center, curled around each other and forsaking the patient beds. Sleep comes in fits and bursts between nurses coming in to check Britt's vitals and guide her through gentle exercises. But it's better than having to sleep outside of the room, or be stuck in our Poke Balls. The first nurse to suggest that is met with six pointed stares; no one poses the question again.  
  
At eight in the morning, Britt is declared "out of the woods" but is still unable to battle. I don't even care, because she's alive and there is a _tomorrow_ where she'll be back to her old, blunt, roughhousing self. Jackson seems especially relieved by this. Britt's the one who gives the order to get out of her room and relax, to prepare for the fight ahead. "I'll bug one of the nurses to bring a screen in here," she says. "Don't do anything stupid, because I'll be watching."  
  
So at eight-thirty, with the rest of the team called back into their balls, we exit out one of the back entrances. The media's probably stormed the front, though I wouldn't be surprised if someone was hiding in the bushes right now, waiting for us. But no one pops out, no cameras flash or click. So True pulls the hood of her jacket up, is careful to tuck her hair in, and walks forward with her head lowered.  
  
But that jacket has been seen by the region. _I_ have been seen by the region. I have never left her side and never will. The walk back to our apartment is long and winds through a city electrified by the beginning of the end; we pass by so many shops with plush Pokémon and books of former Champions that I lose count. True's own eyes, blown up by posters, seem to follow us everywhere. I can't help but remember seeing Chris in Celadon, bundled up in the plainest hoodie possible. Now I understand. The people are hungry for us, and they find us without much trouble at all.  
  
True breathes her way slowly through a bombardment of autograph requests, of young trainers begging their peers to take photos with "a potential Champion." She smiles tight-lipped through it all. Almost everyone asks about Julian and Britt—no, the Nidoking and the Blastoise. Most don't remember the names of us Pokémon, but some do, and they seem devastated to hear the news of Julian's death and Britt's injuries from our own mouths.  
  
No one seems to be angry, not that we see. Disappointed and sad, yes. Happy to see us moving on, yes. I have divorced myself from League talk for so long that I don't know if this is normal or not. Does Julian's death mean something if we can take it to the end? Would it matter if we lost? They are questions I don't want to learn the answers to. I'm afraid to hear them.  
  
More than anything I'm wary of the pity that flashes in the eyes of those who pass us, on the street or in the tiny market where True picks up a few groceries. The cashier insists on giving us a discount but True is adamant in paying in full. So we go back with our Chansey eggs and sugar and baking powder and other sweet-making things.  
  
The closing click of our apartment door is the best sound I've heard all week.  
  
True releases the rest of the team like an afterthought, between setting the bags on the countertop and pulling out ingredients. There is a heaviness in the living room, in the slight dip of the cushions where Britt had eaten breakfast just this morning and in the spot of carpet where Julian had laid. Somehow we all move to the kitchen, watching True move around dusting countertops and counting out measuring tools.  
  
I’ve seen her cook several times on this journey, but we have never had the time and space to bake. The oven isn’t big enough for everything she’s preparing, but she lists them all anyway: chocolate scones and berry pies, a two-layer cake with purple frosting. She mutters things to herself and gets flour on everything from her shirt to the tip of her nose.  
  
Jackson, trying to be helpful, licks it clean. True smiles and offers him the chocolate-covered spatula. He balks at the taste and hands it off to Hyde, who licks it and falls in love. “Why didn’t they have _this_ in the Safari Zone!”  
  
“’Cause it’s grooooss,” Jackson whines, trying to rub the residue off his tongue.  
  
True, wearing a wavering smile, turns to get a glass from the cabinet—but the door has already been opened, and a glass is levitating above her head. One pair of Hyde’s eyes is glowing as the faucet turns and the glass is filled. There are shit-eating grins on every round face as Hyde sets the glass in front of Jackson, who stares at him in surprise.  
  
Hyde’s clearly-practiced “Practice” just might have been cool if Clara hadn’t started laughing immediately afterward.  
  
The hours pass this way, with the oven dinging and more and more baked goods filling the room with delectable smells. It feels strange to be laughing this much, to be eating sweet things, when Britt’s in the Pokémon Center and Julian is… gone. It comes in fits and starts and never stays for long, but I think that’s the kind of laughter we need right now: just a few releases of tension. How the hell are we supposed to make it through otherwise? But I’m always the last to laugh and the first to stop. The others probably notice, but I don’t care. My mind is on other things: gnashing teeth and dark eyes and burning, freezing deaths.  
  
Clara nibbles on the tips of my ear, and I look over to her. “Not a fan of sweet things?” I ask. She shakes her head and stares at me. I sigh. “Lost my appetite.”  
  
She sighs and taps her beak on the top of my head—her way of soothing me. I lean into the sharp touch and murmur a “Thank you.” She responds with a soft chuckle and another soft nibble.  
  
True’s small cake is cooling on a wire rack and we’re all eating Pokéchow when, out of nowhere, someone knocks on the door.  
  
The little color that’s left in True’s face drains immediately. “Reporters?”  
  
But we’d given them their interview. Hadn't we?  
  
Despite Jackson’s growled “Don’t!” Hyde moves forward, trying to move as stealthily as he can—which isn’t saying much, given that he’s a talking tree. He leans against the door with his eyes narrowed and asks, “Are you a reporter?”  
  
If I rolled my eyes any harder they would pop right out of my head. I jump from the counter and land gracelessly on the top of Hyde’s heads. The peephole near the top of the door is tiny and probably too tall even for True. “Lift me,” I say, and feel a familiar psychic tingle along my body.  
  
The woman who smiles awkwardly at me is the furthest thing from a reporter. It takes a minute for my mouth to start working again. “It's okay. Let her in.”  
  
It takes a bit of shuffling for Hyde to move out of the way. But with a twinge of psychic energy the lock unclicks, the door opens. And Sherri, bundled up against the November cold, walks into our flour-dusted oasis.  
  
She's changed in the months since I'd seen her at the street-side café in Saffron. Her curly hair looks windblown and smells like autumn and she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week, but she’s wearing good clothes and some fruity perfume. There are bandages on her fingers that cling to the straps of a tattered bag; it rattles as she looks around our living room. I have never associated "awkward" with Sherri, who had kept calm against a Rocket executive, but it's there in the gleam of her eyes as she looks up at True in the kitchen. “I would have come sooner,” she says, quiet as a mouse, “but I needed to formally take a vacation.”  
  
If someone asked me to define "a mess" I would point to this moment. True is still coated in flour, and her hands are still sticky from kneading dough and mixing, and there's an unabashed rawness in her eyes as she takes everything in. "You're done? With the play?"  
  
"I did my part. Got my paycheck last night, after…" She doesn't elaborate. She doesn't need to. “I’m so sorry.” She looks down at the plastic bag at her hands and sets it on the floor. “I… if this is too much, I can leave—“  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
They lock eyes with such a fierce intensity that I’m left breathless. True wipes her messy hands on a nearby towel, hangs it on the back of a chair, and steps right in front of Sherri to grab the bag at her feet. Slowly, with shaking hands, True begins to sift through the items, pulling them out one by one. The bottle of red wine floors me; the multiple VHS tapes make me laugh. True’s own surprised chuckle is piercing in this anticipating silence. “So… is this your go-to comfort? Wine and movies?”  
  
Sherri’s gentle smile would have been enough of an answer. “Never let me down before.”  
  
I think True would have just kept staring if Jackson hadn’t come up to sniff the wine bottle. She runs a hand along the side of his muzzle, softly chastising him, before sighing. “But how did you even…?"  
  
"Hopped a rent-a-flight out of Lavender Town. Cheapest fare," she explains, when Clara coos softly. Sherri extends her hand to the Fearow, who nibbles tentatively at her fingers. "I started knocking around doors when I noticed an Abra following me around everywhere. Asked me who I was. It led me here, and… here I am."  
  
"Here you are," True whispers, like she can't believe it.  
  
Now I remember: Sabrina's Abra had been the ones to find True when she'd left the gym. Jackson must too, because he lifts his head. "You're a friend," he says simply.  
  
Sherri's shy smile is answer enough. "So, um… I figured you could use a movie night." She eyes the counter of baked goods. "Unless you already had plans."  
  
Britt would have us watching the Battle Network, trying to see Gary's fighting style. I know that's what will be on tonight. The commentators will be placing bets on who wins and by what margin. I know for a fact that's what Gary will be doing tonight.  
  
But True isn't Gary, or Britt. Right now she doesn't have to be anything more than a girl who holds the bag of wine and movie tapes in one hand and Sherri's in the other, whose smile is shy and wondering and calm. Hyde is giggling to himself and Jackson and Clara seem content. All I know is that True's watery eyes somehow match her own awkward smile when she says, "Movie night sounds great."  
  


* * *

  
"Movie night" ends up lasting four hours—three if you don't count the last hour. Jackson, Hyde, and Clara had been enraptured in the first movie, an animated musical where the girl saves her lover who'd been turned into a Pokémon. I had been paying more attention to Sherri and True quietly whispering to each other. At the end of the second movie, some plotless romantic-comedy, we turn to see that they had fallen asleep, their hands still laced together. Clara steals one of the blankets from the bed and, with Hyde's help, draped it over them. We're careful to keep quiet as we turn the television off, dim the lights, and go into our respective corners to sleep.  
  
But I'm too full of nervous energy to close my eyes anytime soon. I watch the two girls for a bit, watching over them and waiting to see if one of them wakes up in the darkness. It's a moot point: they might shift under the blankets or murmur something to themselves, but they don't wake up. I'm glad for it. If there was ever a night for True sleep without interruption, it's tonight.  
  
The sound of everyone's snoring is relaxing, and even if I don't sleep I can at least close my eyes. Maybe I get close to it. But then I hear the slide of the patio doors open. When I blink my eyes open I see Jackson's burning tail slip out into the night. He's left the door open just a bit, but that's all I need to follow him out.  
  
It's cold out here; I can see my breath fogging in the light of Jackson's tail flame and in the stars overhead. One bright star shines higher than the rest, silver against the pale blue and white of the other stars around it. Jackson's out on the lawn, curled up with his wings tucked in and his head angled up.  
  
"Can't sleep?" I ask.  
  
He's just illuminated enough for me to see him flinch. I pause at the wooden steps until I see him shake his head. "Thinking about tomorrow."  
  
I settle down at the base of his tail and look up at the moon. It's full and bright tonight, shining brilliantly in the sky. I can't help but pick out familiar constellations, which shine brilliantly in the dark sky. It's like being waved to by an old friend.  
  
"I miss Kerri," Jackson says softly.  
  
His eyes are glistening in the firelight. I am used to seeing other people cry, but there's something painful about seeing Jackson on the verge of tears. "I miss her, too. And everyone else."  
  
"They should be here right now, with us," he says, and lays his head down on the ground. "People keep taking my friends away. And I can never stop them." He looks at me and Arceus, the raw pain in his eyes is breathtaking. "I thought that being strong was going to be enough to keep everyone safe, but Britt's in a bed and Julian's _gone_. And I want it to stop."  
  
I close my eyes and sigh. "No matter how hard you fight, you can't beat death. Just delay it a bit." I pause. "You know what someone told me once? That the only way to beat death's to live as full a life as possible. You fight with everything you have. So that when the day finally comes, you don't have any regrets."  
  
"Who told you that?"  
  
My brother. "Someone who isn't around to fight anymore."  
  
Jackson hums a quiet approval before setting his head down. I look back up to the sky and see the jumping Gyarados—the rampaging Tauros—  
  
"Do you still hate them?"  
  
I furrow my brow. "Hate who?"  
  
But I think a part of me already knows who he's referring to. He says, "The Arcanine. The man in the Pokémon Center." He growls. "That Vaporeon."  
  
I don't have any room to lean my head back, to rest against him. My sigh is deep and heavy, and it mists out of me like smoke. Is hate even the right word for what I felt about them? No. "I was really angry at them for a long, long time." That's a better word. "The Ar… _Goliath_ ," I correct, and the name sits weird on my tongue. I'm not used to saying it. "For killing Al. Chris, for bringing him there." Another sigh. "And Cassidy for changing."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"I was angry for a long, long time," I say. Something about saying it out loud, verbally acknowledging it, is like a weight being lifted off my chest. I feel lighter. "I couldn't make things be the way I wanted them to be. I didn't fight it, though, I ran away from it. And now," I say with a laugh, "everything's different. If I hadn't told True I'd be her Starter Pokémon I'd be out in the woods with my guitar, ignoring everything about this place. But I did. And I'm still angry about so many things... my friends dying, or getting hurt, or hurting others." I close my eyes. "But I don't want to be angry at everything anymore."  
  
I can feel Jackson's eyes on my shoulder; they're a heavy weight, one that I somehow don't shrink from. He lifts his head back up with a sigh and shifts his body. "I'm never going to stop fighting."  
  
He wouldn't be Jackson if he stopped fighting. I smile. “But you know,” I say softly, “life’s about more than just fighting. Sometimes it’s looking up at the stars."  
  
They’re still up there, twinkling before our very eyes. Jackson’s breath fogs up the window; I lean up to smear it away, and it makes the stars look even hazier. “I think my mama told me stories about them. But I don’t remember any.”  
  
The memories of quiet nights in the Sinnoh gardens, in Pallet’s forests, blur together. Al and Cassidy very well could have met in my mind. I take a deep breath and point up to the big silver star overhead. “See that really bright one up in the sky? That’s the God Star. People and Pokémon in Sinnoh believe that that’s where Arceus, the Pokémon that created everything, looks down on us. And that little cluster right there…”  
  
I tell him stories until he falls asleep. I tell myself stories until my eyelids flutter shut and sleep is a wave that takes me under, instead of a Lopunny punch that knocks me down for the count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol you guys thought this was going to be the last fight?
> 
> This is the chapter that ties almost all the loose ends together. I still have a few stragglers that will be addressed in these next few chapters--I have to give you all something to keep reading for ;)--but these... these were the big ones.
> 
> I made a very conscious choice to expand Wonderwall's world beyond Gen I Kanto's borders: from the Sneasel that appears on the SS Anne and fights Kerri; to Chris, Al, and Casey being immigrants from Sinnoh. This includes moves that may not necessarily have been known to Gen I people. In my headcanon, Pokemon moves and appearances depend on a number of factors, from the environment around them to their parentage. Does breeding outside species happen often in the wild? It does--far less than it does in captivity or breeding ranches, but it does. And sometimes mixed-heritage Pokemon breed with other mixed-heritage Pokemon. And sometimes they pass along those hidden skills to their offspring, to be brought out by special teachers.
> 
> Goliath, Frances Byrnne's Arcanine, was one of those Pokemon. He knew Outrage.
> 
> When I was researching Arcanine to bring Goliath to "life" I came across something very interesting: Arcanine is able to learn at least one dragon-type attack throughout most generations. In Gen I it is the only Pokemon who is a) not a dragon-type, or b) not in a breeding group with a dragon-type Pokemon, to learn Dragon Rage by TM; in Gen II it is the only Pokemon who is a) not a dragon-type, b) not in a breeding group with a dragon-type Pokemon, or c) not a true Legendary Pokemon to learn Dragonbreath by TM; in Gen IV it can learn Dragon Pulse via TM; in Gens V and VI it can learn Outrage and Dragon Pulse via move tutor. That's a strange thread to have for an "average strong fire-type," isn't it? As a bonus, Outrage is depicted in the games with a lot of fire, and ends with confusion. When I realized this I just couldn't let it go. So here we are.
> 
> And as far as the other thing... SOMEONE DESERVES TO BE HAPPY IN THIS DAMN NUZLOCKE, might as well be the gay girls :")
> 
> On the next episode of Wonderwall: the final battle. Shit's gonna get lit, folks.


	86. "Chapter 79"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for April Fool's Day 2016. Be warned.

Our invitation comes the day after our battle with Gary.  
  
It's addressed to True, but we all gather around her to get a closer look. Given I'm roughly the size and shape of an ostrich egg, I have to scramble up her pant leg and perch on her shoulder to see for myself.  
  
"It's a party for former and new League champions," True reads aloud. "It sounds like you guys get to come, too!"  
  
"Ooh, a party!" Hyde's three faces split into a delighted grin, lighting up like a Christmas tree even though that's preposterous because he's clearly a palm tree, not a coniferous fir.  
  
True turns her head to glance at me, nudging her cheek against mine. "What do you think, Case, want to go? Who knows, maybe Gary and Cassidy will be there."  
  
Clara clacks her beak in amusement at that, eyes glimmering with mischief like the sassy little stork she is. I stick my tongue out at them, but agree willingly. C'mon guys, we're nearly 80 chapters in. If it wasn't painfully obvious by now that I'm destined to make sweet, sweet love to that wonderful Vaporeon and have a million adorable fuzzball babs with her, you clearly haven't been paying attention. This ship is destined to set sail ~~whether the original author likes it or not hahaha I AM YOUR CAPTAIN NOW~~. Err, moving on.  
  
Speaking of ships, True invites Sherri to be her date and help her get ready for the event. They both look freaking STUNNING and yes, allcaps was completely necessary. Trust me I won Best Written Pokemon 2015, I know what the fuck I'm doing ok.  
  
Anyway since we're Pokemon we don't actually need to, y'know, put on clothes or anything. So once the girls are ready, we roll out looking like a badass posse because we just won everything and are currently the hottest shit in Kanto.  
  
We're greeted at the doors of the venue I'm too lazy to describe by a Leafeon, who smiles and takes our ticket. "Glad to see you made it, even though you really didn't have a choice in the matter! Come right on in, everyone's waiting for you."  
  
Jackson grumbles because he has to duck his head to fit inside, but also probably because sometimes he's a borderline angsty teen but that's okay, we all are sometimes am I right?  
  
My first thought as we walk in is _holy shit this is lame_ , because everyone is literally just standing around staring at us and they're playing some shitty pop music really low in the background.  
  
The Leafeon brushes past us and makes her way to the small stage at the front of the room, next to the DJ who must be a 12 year old girl based on the song choice. She hops up onto a stool so she can reach the microphone, and says, "Hey folks, we're just about to get started, we're just waiting on one more guest to--"  
  
The doors are blasted open by a concentrated jet of water, and Britt stomps in with a cocky grin, cannons gleaming. "SUP BITCHES I HAVE ARRIVED."  
  
Jackson practically bowls her over as he goes in for a hug because he's like a literal puppy I s2g, and I stare at her in disbelief. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on bedrest!!!"  
  
The Blastoise snorts indignantly. "I'm here because I'm a boss ass bitch, and don't you forget it."  
  
And that is all the clarification any of us could ever need.  
  
The Leafeon clears her throat. "Alright, let's get this party starteddddd!"  
  
Our group starts to split up as the music begins playing louder, and I frown as I watch that meddlesome Leafeon herding True and Sherri toward the far corner. "Hey, wait up!" I yell, because I always get frustrated when people interfere with my ability to mother hen. But I have to stop short in my tracks to avoid getting stepped on by a girl with a haunted look in her eyes being trailed by a cutie patootie Umbreon. She looks unbearably sad but I'm a grumpy gus because she almost stepped on my tail, so I say, "Watch where you're going! What's wrong with you?"  
  
Her eyes fill with tears. "I see dead people."  
  
"Suck it up, Osment. This isn't a goddamn M. Night Shyamallamalan movie."  
  
And then I scurry off, before I can butcher that name any worse than I already did and so that I can find True and save her from that obviously lesser Eeveelution.  
  
I catch up right as the Leafeon leads them to a roped-off area, with a sign that reads "RESERVED FOR VIP SHIPS DO NOT DISTURB OR ELSE".  
  
"What are you doing?" I ask the grass-type, and she beams at me.  
  
"Oh! True and Sherri have a privately reserved section because they're adorable and also because I can do whatever the hell I want, it's my party," she says with a wink. "Plus I need to keep them in a safe place, because TV peeps and the CW in particular seem to really enjoy killing off lesbians these days, and I would hate to have to FIGHT A BITCH."  
  
I shrink back a little at her intensity, but she perks up again almost immediately. "Anyway~! No need to worry about True and her bae, Casey. They're in good hands."  
  
I peek past her and see True and Sherri snuggling on a loveseat, talking and laughing and having a grand time. I smile, and turn to reply to the Leafeon but she's already bounding away with a quick, "Enjoy the party!"  
  
But it's a little hard to, with this crummy music crowding into my ears. At the risk of sounding like a music snob, I decide to seek out the DJ and command him to stop making my ears bleed. I weave through a crowd of… really interesting people. Near the bar there's a sad hairy man who looks like he could really use a hug (and also maybe an electric razor) slumped over the counter, sobbing into a bowl of soup. A petite girl with fiery red hair tries to comfort him by patting his shoulder but her nails (claws?) are so freakishly long I'm afraid she might actually skewer him and make a sad-hairy-man kebab.  
  
Not wanting to witness that disaster waiting to happen, I continue my hunt for the hellspawn that is playing Nickelback and totes killing my vibe.  
  
I approach the DJ table right as another yellow and brown budderball does. The Drowzee glances at me. "I'm guessing you're sick of this shit too?"  
  
I nod, and he smirks as he hops up and his eyes start glowing. The guy behind the table goes slack as the Drowzee works his magic. Suddenly his eyes snap open and he screams like a little girl, and runs away looking terrified. Impressed, I shout, "What'd you do to him?"  
  
He gives me a smug look as he settles into the DJ's vacated chair. "You don't wanna know," he says with a dark chuckle, as he pulls on the headphones and reaches for the microphone. "Alright you sons of bitches, get ready to turn up because DJ WEISS-MEISTER IS IN THE FUCKING HIZZZOUSE!!!"  
  
Everyone screams wildly in reply, and just like that, the party magically turns into a fucking rager.  
  
Now that I know True is safe with Sherri and I'm satisfied that our DJ is a BAMF, I realize that my next mission should be to find Cassidy. You'd think it wouldn't be too hard to spot a cerulean blue fox-mermaid thing in a crowd… but it's challenging when you're so short all you see are people's shins. I slink away to the bar, and clamber into a barstool to try to get a better vantage point.  
  
The man next to me leans back on one elbow, grinning like a sleazy car salesman with his slicked-back brown hair and tweed suit jacket. "I see you've met my compadre," he says, swirling his olive and toothpick around in his martini.  
  
"Yeah," I spit out, trying to be polite even though this guy creeps me the hell out and makes my cheek pouches tickle with nervous energy. "Interesting crowd tonight."  
  
He nods, and points at two people approaching us. "What the hell are you two supposed to be? This isn't a costume party."  
  
The shorter, stockier one tilts her head, looking like she's not sure if he's kidding or nah. "Um… awesome?" Judging by her impressively fluffy awesome plume of a tail, I have to agree. She smiles at me and introduces herself at Chika.  
  
The guy scoffs at her, and glances at the tall guy in the purple hoodie to her right. "What about you, slim?"  
  
He shrugs sheepishly. "Well technically we're called _gijinkas_ , but I'm also known for my disney-lovin' rodent ass self…"  
  
I stop listening when I catch a glimpse of blue in the crowd, and dart away from the bar to catch up to bae. It takes me a minute to navigate the crowd, but finally I skid to a halt in front of my love… and the Leafeon, sitting next to her and grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Hello Casey! Took you long enough to find us! Cassidy and I were just catching up."  
  
The Vaporeon looks at her uneasily. "I literally met you five minutes ago."  
  
But she's just met with a laugh. "Riiiiiight. Hey, you two lovebirds wanna check out the photobooth?"  
  
Cassidy looks at me and I shrug, cracking a smile. "Sure, why not? It'd be nice to document the night."  
  
The Leafeon leads us there, and makes sure we're situated. "Perfect. Have fun you two!" She starts to leave, but then pauses and glances over her shoulder. "Oh, and Casey. Try to lay off the butt-selfies. You're kind of a celeb now and we don't need that shit in the tabloids."  
  
My jaw drops, because _how could she know about that I thought it was just a sugar-induced dream wtfwtfwtfwtf_. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" I roar, but she just winks and trots away, thankfully leaving Cassidy and I in peace so we can enjoy ourselves.  
  
The rest of our night consists of silly pictures, stealing appetizers, ~~doing unspeakable things in the closet that I can't actually talk about because THERE ARE CHILDREN ON THESE FORUMS~~ , and listening to karaoke performed mainly by Hyde. He did a surprisingly touching rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody that left me swiping at tears with my paws, because those three heads of his just harmonized _perfectly_ , but all too soon the party starts to dwindle down and after the fourth time through, Bohemian Rhapsody begins to lose some of its initial charm.  
  
A bedraggled Leafeon finally wrestles the mic away from Hyde, and clears her throat. "Alright folks, thanks for coming out! I think we had a pretty good turnout," she says, face falling a little as everyone mutters their disappointment. "Ah c'mon guys, it was fun! But it's late and I'm out of alcohol to fuel this monologue so--"  
  
"Boooooo, get off the stage!" Yells a belligerently drunk girl on the front row. She tosses her side braid over her shoulder sassily and glares at the Leafeon like a defiant child, ignoring the blond boy who is trying to shush her. "Don't be such a fucking buzzkill!"  
  
"YOU SHUT THE HELL UP HART, I CAN LITERALLY MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL," the Leafeon shouts, a few veins popping out of her forehead. "I AM RUNNING ON FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP AND I'M CLEARLY NOT AFRAID TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL."  
  
That makes the loudmouthed girl shut her piehole, and the Leafeon seems to regain her composure. "Ahem. That officially concludes this year's April Fool's Shit-show. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to sleep because I'm going to be hungover as fuck in the morning. Thank you and goodnight."  
  
Everyone grumbles as they start to filter out the doors, but the Leafeon stops me, Cassidy, True and Sherri before we can head out. "Not so fast. My two fave ships get the star treatment, and I got y'all hotel rooms for a romantic evening." She hands True and Sherri their room key with a coy wink. "You girls have some fun." Then she hands me ours and I eagerly grab at it, but she doesn't let go right away and instead leans in. "As for the two of you… go make some adorable fluffy babies because it's your motherfucking destiny." Cassidy and I share a look, and both break into a sly grin. Because I mean, she's not _wrong_.  
  
It's a very good night, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who didn't write this chapter! IT'S ME CONGRATS. I leave you all with the "original author"s note by Aurea, who writes Impulse on the Nuzlocke Forums. Go check it out. >)
> 
> THIS SHIT IS WONDERWALL AF*
> 
> All I can do is offer you a sincere apology because I'm writing this while severely sleep-deprived and also wine was involved shhhhh
> 
> Cameos in order of appearance: Zoe & Kayin (In the Sun's Embrace); Anna & Harry (Beast of Hoenn); Weiss & Niels (Contagious); Chika & Dell (Routes of Kanto); Natalie & Chase ( ~~that one trash nuzrun~~ Impulse)
> 
> now if you need me I'll be sitting in a corner thinking about what I've just done
> 
> ~Aurea
> 
> *'AF' can either mean "AS FUCK" or "April Fool's". Entirely dependent on preference.


	87. Extra Seven: The Fight

...is not a written update, but a comic!

It will be updated in three parts, one per week. You can find it through the Wonderwall tumblr, wonderwallnuzlocke . tumblr . com, or on deviantart @ awakingdormancy.deviantart.com. 


	88. Chapter Seventy-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

_I have been here before.  
  
I recognize the high walls and the trainer’s booths. Chris’s stadium had been haunting in the night without spotlights, but now, with the sunlight streaming in through the open roof, the absence of the crowd is damning. I look down expecting to see blue tile but it isn’t there. Grit finding places in the spaces of my toes on a sandy battlefield. The air I breathe into my lungs is cold but the battlefield is warm, too warm, almost blistering.  
  
And in the center of this arena Tanza is holding my brother, whole and uncharred and limp, in his arms. That’s when I know this is a dream. He is crying, and I’m crying as I rush to the center to meet them. Tanza, wrapped up in his own storm, doesn’t look up at me. Al’s face is buried into his chest.  
  
Until it isn’t. Until he’s turning his head to look right at me.  
  
Al’s eyes are the same vivid green. They are magnetic, glazed. I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead; I don’t know which one would scare me more. Someone who is alive could not be that still while being held by their grieving lover. And someone who is dead could not be looking at me so piercingly.  
  
In a low, knowing voice, he asks, “Are you ready?”  
  
The ground opens underneath me and without any explanation I am falling, and Al's name is echoing in my head—_  
  
"Hey, gonna wake up anytime soon?”  
  
And I am.  
  
Somehow I have moved from laying on top of Jackson to nuzzling against his belly; his tail is a solid warmth around me. But it isn’t him who has stirred me from sleep; the eyes that look into mine, dark gray tinted with green, are only passingly familiar. It’s only when he speaks, a gentle “Everything okay?” that I recognize the Pidgeotto who’s leaning down to my level.  
  
It takes me a minute to remember the word _nightmare_ , and another to find my voice and push it out of my dry mouth. “No.” And then, “Is she—”  
  
“They’re making breakfast. I’m supposed to come get you guys, but if you need a moment…"  
  
I've had a night of them. Jackson looks at me with a guarded expression on his face. It doesn't sit well on him. Or maybe I'm just used to seeing him angry, or sad, or content. Hesitance is not, has never been, something I associate with the Charizard. I take a deep breath. "Better get moving then, huh?”  
  
There's dew on the grass and it feels good between my toes, slick and cool. It feels good to move, too—with each step I feel more limber, less cramped. I sneak a few blades of grass between my teeth; the tiny beads of moisture seep into my tongue, and I nearly sigh in relief.  
  
"You're supposed to _eat that?_ " Jackson asks, incredulous.  
  
"Who knows with landers," Preston says, fluttering above us. I look up at him with narrowed eyes. He chuckles. "Pokémon who don't fly."  
  
The door has been opened for us, letting in smells of cooking breakfast. Preston sails in first, to soft praise from a sleepy and half-familiar voice. Every lamp has been turned on, basking the living room in yellow. Clara and Hyde look up from their bowls with bright eyes and welcoming smiles. They look strong and rested, ready for anything. Jackson seems ready for anything.  
  
True, despite her clean hair and clothes, looks ready for bed. She's sleepy-eyed and wearing a lazy smile as she goes from flipping pancakes to sizzling Chansey eggs to straining tofu bacon. She's slow to look up at Jackson and I as we approach the couch, and when she does it's with a yawn and a soft, "G'morning."  
  
"Did you get any sleep last night?" I ask.  
  
"Slept on a couch," she replies, and flinches herself awake. "M'slow waker. Food'll wake me up."  
  
If I hadn't once seen True sleep-cook an entire meal in the lab, I would be more concerned. I'd try to pull her away from the burners. But she seems awake and coherent enough for me to do no more than sit on the window sill, stealing sniffs. It only takes a flick of my wrist to turn the faucet on. Clear, cold water gushes out, and I take my fill with a loud, blissful sigh. True's only response is just to laugh at me. The questioning tilt in her brow doesn't leave even after I've turned the faucet off. I wipe my mouth with the back of my paw. "And, uh… and Sherri?"  
  
"Got forced out of the kitchen," says a voice behind the couch. Somehow I'd missed the cloud of Sherri's hair against the dark fabric. She looks up at me with a smile just as lazy and tired as True's, drumming her fingers along the back of the couch. "Apparently flying out here earns me a work-free breakfast."  
  
"Showing up unannounced with movies and alcohol gets you a work-free breakfast," True says. "Jackson, Casey, there's food on the table for you. Unless Hyde got into it."  
  
"I object!" the Exeggutor yells. "I'm not the food thief!"  
  
Clara rolls her eyes and points accusingly at Jackson. He pulls his head back and opens his mouth, like he's about to say something, pauses, then nods. "Food's just too good though," he whines.  
  
"Amen," Preston says.  
  
Hyde levitates my bowl down from the table to the floor, right beside him. Eating sounds like a manageable task after having something to drink, and I'm able to actually appreciate every bite.  
  
The air in the room is different now that Britt isn't here. But maybe part of it is because Sherri's here with us, tucked in the couch with True at one side and Preston on the floor at the other. And maybe part of it is because we all know that, in a few short hours, our lives will change again. For better or worse. Hyde doesn't make as many silly comments, and Jackson doesn't roll his eyes as much. Part of me is waiting for Britt to just bust down the door and give us all a kick in the ass to get us going, but she's still in the final stages of recovery.  
  
True sighs into her half-eaten plate and scrapes her leftovers into Clara and Jackson's bowls. The food is devoured quickly, loudly. When she meets my questioning eyes she smiles and says, "They deserve it."  
  
But she deserves to eat, too. And I think Sherri shares my concern, because she furrows her brow and folds her arms over her empty plate. "When do you go down to the stadium?"  
  
"About forty minutes," True says, without even glancing at the clock. "Just enough time to do something I should've done a long time ago."  
  
She leans forward with her hands clasped together and eyes each of us, her teammates. “Everything we’ve done this past week… these past _months_ … it was a lot. And I may not have always been there the way I should have been, like other trainers, but… we tried. Right?”  
  
“I don’t want another trainer,” Hyde says simply. “And I mean, if you were someone else I probably wouldn’t even be here. I’d be in the Safari Zone.” He blinks. “Or eaten.”  
  
“You cared for me,” Jackson says. “And you didn’t give up.”  
  
Clara gently teases the fraying ends of True’s hair with her beak. She warbles fondly. No words could translate the proud gleam in her eyes.  
  
And I look up at her, fingers twitching, and smile. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Win or lose.”  
  
“We’re going to _win_ ,” Jackson says firmly.  
  
But True shakes her head. “As long as none of you get really hurt, that will be enough. And… I’m proud of everything we’ve done together. Now I have to make sure you guys are proud, too.”  
  
“Make Julian and Wilkes proud,” Hyde says.  
  
Jackson bows his head. “Minka and Peter and Kerri, too.”  
  
I swallow the hard lump in my throat and whisper, “Make my brother proud.”  
  
I believe in ghosts the way some people believe in love. I believe that the shadows that pass of in the eyes of those pondering or left behind are spirits flickering. With every second that passes I feel Al’s weight solidify just a little harder, and I hear him more clearly. He isn’t even saying anything, but I feel him.  
  
And I know everyone else feels someone right now. I see Kerri gearing for battle in Jackson’s eyes; Peter’s steady determination in Clara’s; Wilkes’s solemn strength in Hyde’s; and in True’s I see two equal ghosts, Minka’s protective gleam and Julian’s quiet desperation.  
  
In Sherri there is only warmth. Her hand finds True’s, who takes it silently. Their fingers slip together like they’ve practiced this. Preston, who has been a shadow beside us, perches on Sherri’s other side. “If you want to get to the stadium on time, we should get going.”  
  
Sherri takes a deep, long breath before pulling her hand away. “He’s right,” she says, like an apology.  
  
True’s already twitching her fingers, like she’s reaching for the warmth. "So for now… this is goodbye?"  
  
"For now," Sherri says. "It's only a few hours, right?"  
  
A few hours. A lifetime. What's the difference anymore?  
  
But True seems much more focused on Sherri's soft smile, on the bandages wrapped around her dark fingers. And I am focused on the slow lean of True's body as she comes forward to press her lips against Sherri’s in a quick, effortless kiss that lasts only a moment. The soft meeting is unremarkable for its brevity; it is magical because I know the meaning behind the gleam in True’s eyes when she pulls away.  
  
They laugh softly as True worries her lip with her teeth. Sherri brushes her thumb gently against True’s before she stands up and straightens her top. "I’ll be rooting for you. Be safe.”  
  
“You too,” True says softly. She pauses. “Um. Not that there’s much to worry about in a stadium, but…”  
  
Sherri smiles gently. “See you later.”  
  
This time True only waves awkwardly from the couch as Sherri wiggles into her jacket. Preston sails out of the open door and immediately disappears from sight. We all watch as Sherri turns around, mouths some sort of farewell, and closes the door behind her.  
  
We get about five seconds of fragile peace before Hyde starts giggling. “Britt would’ve killed to see that!”  
  
And even I have to laugh at the blush that explodes in True’s cheeks. But True’s smile is wider than I’ve seen it this past week—this past _month_ —and even with her flustered hands and the crack in her voice she seems more at ease. It is so easy to imagine that we aren’t in the Indigo Plateau, that we’re in a room and it’s just the group of us and Sherri has only gone off to the market to grab things for dinner—but then I see the flash of golden-brown out of my eye, and I remember.  
  
The others have noticed too; True, who is teasing her lip with her teeth but is otherwise stoic, stands up. McKey bows to her, holding his silver spoons in one bent hand, before meeting her eyes. [They’ll be waiting for you.]  
  
True recalls Jackson, Hyde, and Clara. I jump from the top of the couch to True's shoulder. We know the routine by now, and we’re comfortable with the hazy sensation of our bodies disappearing into nothing, and then reassembling in another space. Familiar eyes from familiar frames stare down at us. The room is electrically charged.  
  
Gary is already here, alone, dressed in a new purple shirt. He’s pushed the arms up to bunch around his elbows, has left the top buttons undone. He is a carefully-groomed mess who meets our eyes cautiously.  
  
True matches it, bracing herself with a sigh. “So.”  
  
“I had a feeling it would be the two of us,” Gary says softly.  
  
True shifts in her jacket. “Since when?”  
  
“Can’t really pinpoint it.” He fidgets with his collar. “The final battle at Silph? Your battle with Agatha? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”  
  
And it doesn’t, in the end. Anything that might have happened between them is in the past; all that will matter is what happens on that battlefield.  
  
“Did you ever think you’d get this far?” he asks.  
  
“No,” True says softly.  
  
“Because of your dad?”  
  
Only Tess Fargone has mentioned Richard’s name; no one has asked True this question so directly. I am ready for her to steel her shoulders, to turn away. And yes, she straightens. But she looks Gary dead in the eye and nods. “I wanted to know what I was capable of, or if I’m really so much different than him.”  
  
The answer blows me away. Even Gary looks surprised. “And are you?”  
  
She lowers her eyes to the ground. “I’m still deciding.”  
  
I feel like I shouldn’t be here, or at least I shouldn’t be alone. Cassidy’s absence in this room feels so wrong. The four of us started this journey together: two humans with something to prove, and the Pokémon who had followed them to achieve their goals.  
  
I’m still not sure what my goal was for following True. Make sure she survived. I smile to myself. Maybe I’m better than I thought.  
  
“Why’d you leave?” she finally asks.  
  
Gary looks down at his shoes—dark brown, freshly waxed—and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I wanted to get out,” he laughs. “Out of Fuchsia and the ranch, out of Gramps’s legacy, out of my old life. And I wanted to do it my way. If nothing else, I was able to do that. Beat the shit out of some Rocket grunts, saved some Pokémon. No one in my family has the balls to _do_ something, instead of sit and study.”  
  
“You wanted to change things,” True says softly.  
  
“I still do,” Gary says, and looks up. “And I will.”  
  
“ _Challengers, we’re ready for you. Please proceed to the middle door for the Championship battle._ ”  
  
The three of us turn our heads behind us. The lightning-emblazoned door, _Chris’s door_ , is opening wide and exposing its long tunnel. Neither Gary or True moves at first; they hesitate, looking between the tunnel and each other. Finally True extends her hand. And to my utter surprise, Gary takes it to pull himself out of the chair.  
  
They drop hands like the contact is toxic. But they stand shoulder-to-shoulder out of the Hall of Fame, breathing in sync, walking in tandem. They don’t say anything else to each other. They don’t need to. The crowd, when we walk into the light, does it for them.  
  
The stands are filled and _alive_ , a sea of spectators who are chanting True’s and Gary’s names. I am only dimly aware of an announcer addressing the crowd—the sounds are all blending into each other, and there are more important things to think about.  
  
My first view of this stadium had been through a grainy television screen; my second had been in the dead of night, with a cautious Nidoking at my back and an off-guard Tanza and Chris in front of me. You would think, after four Elite Four matches, I would be used to the roar of the crowd and the gigantic battlefield and the tiled floor, but I’m not. The nightmare is still too present and real in my mind to make me forget that first impression so easily.  
  
Whatever fragile peace had been built between True and Gary collapses as they turn away from each other. True walks toward the green podium that shields her bottom half from view; no one will be able to notice her knees knocking into each other. Her hands find the steel railing, drumming against the shining length. Perched on her shoulder, I have a clear view of the battlefield, and of Gary taking in the sights. Even from here I can see the guarded look in his eyes, the square set of his narrow shoulders, and the cautious line of his mouth.  
  
But the second the giant screens zoom in on his face, that familiar haughty air returns. It is such a stunning transformation that I’m left gobsmacked, and my surprise is blown up beside True’s narrowed eyes, her drumming fingers. Text overlays identify each challenger with their names and cities; at the bottom of each screen is a banner with six Poké Balls. Four of True’s are bright-colored; the other two are faded, for Julian and Britt.  
  
On Gary’s, there are five.  
  
“ _Trainers and battling fans!_ ” a familiar voice calls out, repeated over and over again by the speakers. The audience roars as Chris’s face floods every screen. He’s standing up between the announcers, a well-dressed man with a bad comb-over and an exasperated older woman, wearing his iconic gray-and-yellow jacket. “ _Every year this region comes together to celebrate the year’s crop of trainers who have, with their cunning and strength, passed the tests the League has given them to battle before you. Today we reach the climax of this traditional ceremony with two outstanding trainers who have gone beyond the call of duty to their region and to Pokémon alike._  
  
“ _The two young trainers on the battlefield today duel for the opportunity to become Kanto’s next High Champion. It is my hope that this will be a battle remembered for all the right reasons._ ”  
  
Does he have nightmares the nights before these final battles, too?  
  
“ _So to the challengers Gary Oak and True Fargone, I wish you luck, strength, and wisdom. Fight well._ ”  
  
Chris’s final words bleed into the roar of the crowd. Everyone is on their feet, throwing their fists in the air and cheering with reckless abandon. It is in this chaos that Gary throws a lazy finger toward us. His voice, amplified through speakers in the podium, is confident and strong. “I’ve worked too long and too hard to end now, True! It’s going to be me who wins this!”  
  
True grips Hyde’s ball tightly in one hand, white-knuckled but steady. “Bring it.”  
  
Two balls are thrown; twin flashes of white erupt onto the tiled battlefield. Sheldon and Hyde materialize in tandem. The Sandslash looks confident, even haughty, on this battlefield, and twitches his back plates threateningly. Hyde looks up, surprise on his visible faces, at the maddening crowd. “That’s a lot of people,” Hyde breathes.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” True says. Her voice doesn’t waver over the airwaves. “Just focus.”  
  
Gary takes Hyde’s hesitance to issue the very first command of the match: “Cut this quick, Sheldon! Slash!”  
  
Sheldon has torn halfway across the field before True cries out “Mega Drain!” It isn’t soon enough. Sap-colored blood splatters on the ground as Sheldon’s claws make their mark in a scythe-like motion across Hyde’s chest. The huge screen overhead captures the blow almost lovingly, zooming in on the splatters of sap-like blood onto the tile below Hyde’s giant feet.  
  
There is surprise on one coconut-like head, fear on another. But in one there is rage, and that is the one that yells as every one of Hyde’s eyes is bathed in green. Sheldon yowls as a green wash comes over him. I watch transfixed as the cut on Hyde’s barreled chest begins to seal and lighten.  
  
Gary furrows his brow. “Poison Sting.”  
  
“Another Mega Drain!”  
  
Sheldon pivots immediately to expose his spiny back. The attack rattles off like bullets, each striking a vulnerable part of Hyde—an eye, an open mouth, underneath a chin—and when I turn my head toward a screen I can see the Sandslash smirking.  
  
Hyde is roaring, throwing himself forward as his eyes glow green. Again Sheldon is captured in a green wash, even as he continues his Poison Sting. But his plate-like spines collapse on each other, and he falls on the ground, his breathing quick.  
  
Gary's mouth is set in a firm line as he recalls the Sandslash. We had type-advantage on our side. But he isn't glaring at us, just staring at Hyde with a knowing look on his face. "It's fine," he says, and tosses another Poké Ball.  
  
I recognize the probing pressure in my head moments before the figure solidifies from the white light. Michaela stands strong and proud on the opposite side of the battlefield, with her clawed hands clenched tightly around her spoons. She looks right through Hyde to stare at me, and I flinch; there's an unfamiliar ferocity in her eyes, a new curl to her mouth that shakes me more than it should.  
  
It strikes me suddenly that I have never seen her fight before.  
  
True's gritting her teeth and clenching her hands on the silver railing. Does she even see Michaela in this stadium, or McKey in Sabrina's gym? She forces a slow breath through her nostrils before crying out, "Hypnosis!"  
  
The only familiar thing in this stadium right now is the lazy grin on Gary's face. "Psybeam."  
  
Nothing connects. Hyde's Hypnosis means nothing if Michaela doesn't have her eyes open to be entranced; and the waving burst of psychic energy practically bounces off Hyde's thick body. It's a strange kind of dance, shown in the Alakazam's twitching limbs and the Exeggutor's restless feet. Hyde shakes his grassy hair and even from here I can hear it rustle, like I'm back on Route One and it's another ordinary windy day.  
  
"Kinesis."  
  
"Mega Drain!"  
  
At first I think it's just the stadium light catching on Michaela's spoons—but the silver things glow still brighter in her hands, and there's a new satisfaction in the twist of her mouth. Her two spoons suddenly bend on themselves, flashing in so many colors that my head spins. But I'm protected by the barrier—Hyde has no such luck and gets the full brunt of the attack. Two pairs of eyes are closed, and one is furiously blinking.  
  
It doesn't stop the green glow from washing over the Alakazam. Michaela’s shoulders droop slightly but she doesn’t seem to be in pain at all—she could have sprinted from one side of the stadium to the other. Hyde doesn't seem that refreshed either, though he's starting to open his eyes again.  
  
True's brow is knitted in concentration as she leans forward on the steel railing, her hands clenched tightly. "Think of something," she whispers to herself.  
  
Her words catch on her microphone. Gary's smile is cat-like as he folds his arms over his chest. "I watched your battles. Your Exeggutor's flashy attacks won't do anything against Michaela."  
  
Hyde shuffles on the tile, his nailed toes tapping restlessly.  
  
"Hyde," True says slowly, "can you do this?"  
  
There's something _off_ about him; his answering smiles come seconds later than usual, and there's a fogginess in his eyes when he answers, "I can." But maybe that's one of the after-effects of the Kinesis.  
  
"Then bring her down," True shouts, "and use Stomp!"  
  
 _Stomp?_  
  
A walking tree is weird enough without involving the actual feet in battle. Gary and Michaela seem just as surprised—it's enough of a hesitation that Hyde, suddenly sure-footed and yelling at the top of his lungs, is able to close in on the Alakazam. Michaela's second Psybeam is just as ineffective as her first, and bounces onto the tiled ground before disappearing in the afternoon light. It leaves her open.  
  
It is not the graceful kick of a Hitmonlee or the powerful blow of a Machamp, but Alakazam are physically frail. The blow is enough to send Michaela flying into the barrier and fall down with a startled gasp, collapse onto the ground. Gary's eyes are wide as he mouths something. But Michaela stands, her surprised tempered by fury. And I can't really blame her; being taken down by a talking tree, of all things, is probably not on anyone's to-do list. I'm still shaken by Hyde visibly panting, even as he lifts his leg—  
  
And then pauses.  
  
The two psychic-types are staring at each other. I hear the crowd whispering in confusion. True and Gary are each staring down on the battlefield, twisting fingers around the railing and squaring their shoulders.  
  
And then my head splits open with ringing voices.  
  
<<—doing its work-- >>  
  
*—why I feel like this?—*  
  
<<—unable to—>>  
  
*—last time he _died_ —*  
  
They're snippets of psychic conversation, running too quickly through my brain for me to handle. True's eyes are wide with alarm as she looks between me and Hyde. "They're talking, aren't they?" she whispers to me. It takes everything in me to nod and not to scream.  
  
But the pressure leaves as suddenly as it had come, leaving me breathless. The Alakazam raises her head up to Gary and shakes her head. Gary’s eyes furrow. “Then try—“  
  
“One more Stomp,” True says, teeth gritted.  
  
I expect Michaela to wink out of existence. But she is not McKey, who has been trained to dart out of the nothing. Hyde’s heavy foot is no match for Michaela’s brittle body, which folds into the attack. Her spoons fall to the ground moments before she does. The crowd doesn't cheer until Gary, eyes tight and lip twitching, sighs and recalls the Alakazam. Only then does that sudden sense of irritation bleed away. I grit my teeth as the mental probe ebbs away. If I wanted an empathic connection with anyone, I would not have chosen Michaela.  
  
Hyde cuts an impressive figure, his color bleached from the heavy stadium lights and standing hunched over. True is quick to notice something’s wrong and leans forward over the balcony. “Hyde?”  
  
"I feel funny," he mumbles, and then bows to throw up.  
  
The cheers morph into something else. True nearly lunges for the arena but is stopped by the hard barrier. The cameras zoom in on the mess—that same sap-like blood, now tinged with purple.  
  
"Sheldon poisoned him," I breathe softly.  
  
True is speechless and wide-eyed only for a moment; it disappears as she recalls Hyde with a shaking hand. Narrow-eyed, shaking, she whispers a trembling "thank you" to Hyde's ball before sending him down the emergency care chute. Her hand still shakes as she turns back to Gary, with a fire in her eyes that's becoming far too familiar. "That was a dirty trick," she accuses.  
  
"You got through Koga and Agatha just fine," he says, and tosses a Safari Ball into the arena. The Exeggutor that appears from the bright light could very well be Hyde's twin—same builds, same wide eyes on their egg-shaped heads—but their stance is different. More cautious, I think, so at odds with Hyde’s natural enthusiasm.  
  
True doesn't take long at all to make her choice. I catch the familiar carvings above the Poké Ball’s hatch before I make out Clara in the bright light. The crowd cheers for her as she flies high above the stadium, screeching a challenge. Below her, Jekyll shifts their feet, their eyes already shining pale lavender.  
  
“Drill Peck!”  
  
Gary’s eyes narrow. “Catch it.”  
  
Clara is a screeching, blurred arrow as she dives right toward the other Exeggutor—and then stops, like someone’s paused a movie. I recognize the pale sheen of psychic energy around her body, recognize True’s hands gripping the steel barrier. Jekyll’s hold is not as firm as McKey’s had been—Clara’s thrashing her head, screaming so loud that I can’t hear the terror running in my ears.  
  
“Throw her,” Gary says.  
  
Jekyll’s stance is firm, calculated. Their psychic energy seems to be connected to their physical movement—one giant step is taken as their body pivots to the side, and suddenly Clara is flying against the barrier. She crashes into it with a startled scream, high above us; the barrier ripples with the impact, rippling every color.  
  
I expect Clara to crumble down onto the ground, for a switch to be made. But she doesn’t fall. The screens blow up with Clara’s furious eyes and her snapping beak as she takes to the air again, flying faster and faster and faster—  
  
And the blow connects, right in the barrel of Jekyll’s tree-like torso. Clara returns to the air and Jekyll falls to the ground, bleeding and winded. Their legs pump in the air uselessly, like a young Squirtle unsure of its body and unable to flip from their back to their belly. They try turning around, but every twist lands on another pained face.  
  
I think of Hyde. Arms are great for hugging, yes, but they’re damn useful to push yourself back off the ground.  
  
Gary’s steeling his shoulders again, looking at us with a furrowed brow. “She’s gotten better since that practice battle in Celadon,” he says. “You let her fly.”  
  
I remember that battle for entirely different reasons: it’s the first one I’d seen Cassidy fight since evolving.  
  
“That’s not gonna help you this time,” Gary says, and throws a Poké Ball forward.  
  
Maybe that’s why I’m expecting Cassidy to materialize. But it’s Boston who sits on the battlefield, his pointed head proud and his nine tails held up. The clouds part overhead and a beam of sunlight hits him; he looks like a legendary Pokémon in this light, with all the arrogance of one.  
  
True’s eyes narrow. “Clara, be careful. Aim for—”  
  
“Flamethrower, go!”  
  
The attack is not the powerful flood I’ve come to expect from Jackson, but a precise jet of flame that knocks Clara backwards. She falls but is able to pick herself back up just before crashing to the ground, and rises up, aiming again for another hit. She’s met again by another Flamethrower that explodes against her wing.  
  
And now I see their strategy. The Flamethrower is both attack and defense: Clara can’t do anything if she can’t get in close.  
  
Clara’s flight is choppy now, and only one look at her wings confirm why: the ends of her feathers are charred, and with every beat Clara winces.  
  
Gary opens his mouth for another attack, but it comes too late—Clara’s already been recalled back into her ball, held in True’s shaking hand. She murmurs another apology and thanks against the lock; this time, rather than send it down the emergency shoot, she places it back into her front pocket.  
  
She will not put me on that battlefield, not with the fire. But there’s a part of me that’s still surprised when she throws Jackson’s Poké Ball into the arena. The Charizard materializes with a roar and a flash of flame, his wings outstretched in an obvious show of intimidation. Boston doesn’t fall for it; if anything he meets it, fanning his tails out and beckoning with a twist of his head.  
  
“Quick Attack,” Gary calls out.  
  
Boston is a golden blur that rushes forward, slams into Jackson’s chest, and retreats before I have time to process what’s happened. Jackson seems startled too, if the cameras are anything to go by—his eyes are huge and round and his mouth is open, like he’s shocked that such a thing exists. But those eyes narrow immediately afterward as he rushes forward, without True’s command, to slam his burning tail straight across Boston’s face. Just that one attack is enough to send the Ninetales flying right into the barrier; he lands clumsily on his four paws, lifts his head up with a snarl. Gone is that haughty gleam in his crimson eyes—it’s been replaced by rage, with a snarl on his narrow muzzle.  
  
But his eyes are still red. No blown pupils. I grip True’s jacket harder. She presses her cheek against mine and murmurs a quiet, “We have this,” before looking back up.  
  
“Time to put your new attack to use!” True shouts.  
  
That’s all the context the audience is given. Gary narrows his eyes as Jackson pushes off the ground and into the air. At Gary’s command, Boston fires another Flamethrower at Jackson. It engulfs him, winds around him like a fiery snake, but seems to do nothing. Part of me wonders if Jackson even feels it. With bated breath I watch him rise up, and then I watch him fall, head-first, to the ground.  
  
And then he flips, his huge clawed feet kicking out. He slams his entire weight into the tiled floor, a precise Earthquake I never would have expected.  
  
Boston howls as the sudden vibrations rack his body. He falls, winded, onto the ground, anger blazing in his red eyes.  
  
"Boston, Confuse—"  
  
"Earthquake, one last time!"  
  
Jackson isn't winded; Jackson gets to fly up and close his eyes, rendering Boston's feeble call and burst of multicolored light useless. There's nowhere for the Ninetales to run, and no time to even make the attempt—Jackson strikes down on the tiled ground and Boston falls again. Doesn't get up again. Gary's left to recall another Pokémon again.  
  
He fondles Boston's shrunken Poké Ball between his fingers, his mouth set in a firm line. "I haven't had a battle this challenging in a long time. You're good."  
  
True's eyes narrow. "So are you."  
  
"I traveled around Kanto assembling a team that would be able to defeat any opponent. With them, I've become one of the strongest trainers in this region. Maybe in the entire world." He pockets Boston's Poké Ball and takes out another, cradles it gently in his palm. "You may think that you have me backed into a corner with one Pokémon left, but she's the one who's going to win this for me."  
  
There is nothing that misses the probing eyes of the cameras, nothing that isn't shown on the giant display screens. Not the triumphant lift of Gary's lips as he clasps the ball in his hands. Not the arch back of his hand. Not the white burst of light materializing into a too-familiar shape.  
  
The crowd nearly explodes in sound and stomping feet when they see the Vaporeon take the field. They’re chanting her name. It dribbles into one long ribbon of “see! see! see!” Like everyone isn’t already watching.  
  
But Jackson’s furious roar drowns them out. All eyes are on the Charizard who flies up and breathes a blast of fire directly at Cassidy. She dodges the flame easily, her steps steady and body fluid. Only her eyes, wide and glistening, betray her otherwise cool demeanor.  
  
There is a split-second where I expect the worst, where this stadium will go up in flames, where Jackson will be forever remembered as something he’s not—and then it ends with a flash of white and True’s outstretched hand. Cassidy is alone on the battlefield.  
  
It is getting harder to breathe here.  
  
I take one long look at True, my nails pricking the flushed skin of her shoulder. Her eyes are flickering between the ball in her hand, her pocket, the battlefield. Leaving Jackson in the ring is the obvious bad choice—he has a type disadvantage, he's angry—and Clara, even if she were healthy, would have just as much difficulty against Cassidy as she had with Boston. Hyde is off getting emergency treatment in the Pokémon Center.  
  
The screens are showing Cassidy's face, her brow furrowed and her ears twitching anxiously. Gary is tapping his fingers against the railing impatiently, putting his weight on his heels. "You're only drawing it out. I have you beat and you know it!"  
  
The realization comes quickly. And despite the clench of my belly and the twitching of my tail, I laugh. True's eyes are wide and maybe even a little fearful as she turns to me, a question on her lips. I take a shuddering breath and answer it with a resigned, "History repeats itself."  
  
It only takes a moment for her to realize, and when she does she shakes her head violently. "I'm not making you fight," she says. Her words echo through the stadium. Had mine? Will people understand the significance of this? The announcers must, because suddenly the screen is showing their faces; there's an excited gleam in their eyes as they look between each other and the battlefield. But my eyes are only for Chris, who leans forward with his hands clenched in front of him, his eyes tight.  
  
"Who else do you have?” I ask softly.  
  
No one, and she knows it. I hear her sigh. “I can—I’ll figure something else out, I just…”  
  
But we have no more time. “Can you trust me?”  
  
It’s a stupid thing to say—she’s the one who’s supposed to be asking _me_ that question. But I do, with my life. It is the only reason I have traveled with her this long. It is the reason, when she finally nods and whispers, “Always,” that I jump off her shoulder and onto the battlefield.  
  
My paws land hard on the tile--not slick, no sliding, no give. That will work. The roar of the crowd dulls to murmuring; does that have something to do with the protective barriers, or the pounding in my ears? I shake them off and spark—that seems to excite them. I don’t give a damn. Cassidy’s eyes widen as I shift on the battlefield, ears forward and tail up. She matches, fanning her neck frills and snarling softly.  
  
“Don't you remember the last time these two battled?" Gary calls out.  
  
How could we forget the white picket fences, the early summer air? And unknown to them, restrictive walls and glittering ice on dying leaves; wrestling and learning under the autumn stars.  
  
“History won’t repeat itself,” True promises quietly, but not softly enough for the microphone to miss.  
  
You can replace the sandy floor with tile and paint the walls a different color, but this is still the place where my brother died. When I breathe in deep I can taste wildflowers; thunderstorms are rumbling in my ears. There is a heavy, familiar weight pressing itself against my shoulders, and it only disappears when I blink back up at Cassidy.  
  
That sensation haunts me long after Gary and True scream their commands.  
  
“Thunder Wave!”  
  
“Mist!”  
  
I remember when just summoning my electricity had winded me. The lasso of light comes just as easily as breathing now, a sharp exhale and a hard contraction of my cheeks. The haze that is spilling out of Cassidy's mouth doesn't keep my attack from hitting—all it does is shield a bit of her surprised expression and chill the battlefield.  
  
True cries for a Thunderbolt; it only takes a breath to begin charging electricity. The attack sizzles out of me even as Gary calls for a Hydro Pump—I meet my mark and Cassidy bows under the weight of the attack. She does not scream, but grits her teeth and stares right at me as she coughs out a powerful blast.  
  
Not at me, but straight on the ground.  
  
Maybe on Al's sandy field the water would have turned the ground to mush, but on Chris's tile it pools and sloshes around, engulfing my toes. Cassidy coughs up the rest of her water and throws her head up, her fin-like ears twitching teasingly.  
  
There's a screen right in front of me with True's magnified face; she looks just as confused as I feel but her voice is steady as she shouts, “Another Thunderbolt!”  
  
I catch a hint of Cassidy’s smile before she disappears. My attack passes right above the floor, just where Cassidy had stood just moments ago.   
  
When we had sparred on the river I had seen Cassidy wade into the water and sit there, allow the waves to wash away her aches and electric burns. I know that Vaporeon had a special connection to water and often use it to heal their wounds. But this is different. There is no physical sign of Cassidy. She could be right beside me and I'd never even know.  
  
“Good luck attacking her when you can’t even see her!” Gary taunts.  
  
I turn to face True, whose eyes are wide as she scans the battlefield; her fists are shaking violently. “I’ve never seen anyone do that with a Vaporeon before.”  
  
“Taken too much by surprise?”  
  
“She’s good. You’re good.” Her brow furrows. “Casey—”  
  
But Cassidy has erupted to my left. She slams into me head-first; I fly across the field, landing just before the protective barrier. She’s leaning hard on her front paws when I push myself up, starry-eyed and swaying, but there’s a fierce determination in her eyes that is frightening and familiar.  
  
Butterscotch, not black. She's in control. I breathe a little easier.  
  
“Are you okay?” True shouts.  
  
My side is going to be sore for a while. Things aren’t blurring. Pressure is building in my cheeks. I nod and lighting sparks onto the ground, shocking my paws. I jump in surprise. Cassidy winces before dissolving into the water again.  
  
“If we can’t find one spot to hit her, we’ll have to hit them all,” True says, her eyes hard.  
  
But she’s interrupted. “No you don’t,” Gary growls. "Cass, Ice Beam!"  
  
I feel True’s “Wait!” before I hear it. Cassidy shoots out of the water, fully materialized, her mouth already open. I'm waiting for the beam of rainbow-colored ice to erupt onto the ground, jump away from where I think she's going to aim, but she notices and redirects her attack. Minka's eyes are wide and blood-red in my mind's eye as the Ice Beam hits me square in the back. The water on the floor has done more than give Cassidy an opportunity to escape: as the aftermath of the attack settles, gleaming ice spreads like a curse over the tile. Cassidy lands hard on the ground and looks down at me, her eyes hard.  
  
Me releasing the Thunder is instinct, not a battle plan.  
  
It takes a few seconds to see clearly again. When I do, Cassidy is a heap on the wet floor. She isn't moving. And I can't move. Can't do anything but lurch my body and scream.  
  
If True and Gary are doing or saying anything I am unaware of it. I'm watching Cassidy not move, I'm trying to wrestle myself out of her icy hold. Nothing works. I don't breathe. But before my eyes she comes back to life: her ear twitches, and her head lifts up. Cassidy pushes herself upward on shaking legs, her shoulders hunched, her jaw parted.  
  
"Hydro Pump," Gary says.  
  
Her eyes are clear, almost golden, when she shakes her head.  
  
It is an open act of defiance, something unheard of in the Championship match. But no, defiance isn't the word for it. She's hesitating, looking down at me with wide eyes.  
  
I close mine. "You said when the time came you wanted us to be strong enough for a great battle. Right?"  
  
I can feel her eyes, heavy and hesitant, lock with mine.  
  
"Then you need to fight like I'm not me," I say, and look up. She's closer to me now, hunched on the ground. The paralysis has done its work. "Like I'm a—a Dragonite or—"  
  
"You're not a Dragonite," she says softly. "You're…"  
  
Little. Weak. Tired. Out of my league. I know. After all, what's a little Pikachu to the Vaporeon who swept Lance's entire team? Nothing. A fool, if he wants to go against her.  
  
"If I am anything to you," I say, like we're back in the woods north of Cerulean, like we're enemies, "you'll fight back."  
  
Her eyes are clear, almost golden, as she shakes her head again.  
  
So I do what has to be done. I kick back against the ice. I feel it splinter beneath me. Bits of it dig into my thighs as I race forward, all Quick Attack and gusto. She yowls in surprise when I slam into her chest. We both fall forward into a heap. Just like the river, when I'd been too angry to see just what I was doing.  
  
I'm clear-headed now as I slam our heads together. Her body is semi-solid around mine; she keeps shifting, trying to get a clear aim at me, but either I'm too fast or the Thunder Wave has done its job. Her teeth find my tail and I jolt in surprise. We flinch away from each other, just inches apart, huffing and shaking and spent.  
  
Someone is screaming. Maybe it's me. It would explain why my mouth is open just as the burst of water smashes into me and I fly up. The stadium lights are all bright around me. My body slams against something hard. The barrier? The trainer's balcony? I don't know but it's electrifying. Water is gushing into my mouth. Am I breathing it in? Am I that stupid?  
  
Am I falling or flying?  
  
Both. And now I'm landing on something hard, something slick. Every twitch of my cheeks means another electric shock. I can't feel my fingers or my nose. And I'm cold. So cold. I can't breathe.  
  
Water is gushing out my mouth, more and more and more until it's all out on the ground. And Cassidy's eyes, wide and fearful and glistening, are tinged with blue. She's on the other side of the battlefield. Slowly approaching on shaking legs. She's falling down and getting back up. She's saying something. I can't hear her.  
  
The blues of her pelt are blending in with the blue-gray of the tile. She's fading into the background. Or the background is fading into the black. It's hard to tell. What is going on anymore?  
  
I feel the thump of a body falling. Mine or Cassidy's?  
  
Static over the speakers. A sharp voice explodes, " _I forfeit!_ "  
  
I don't feel the knot in my stomach anymore.  
  
When I hit the ground, I don't feel anything.


	89. Chapter Eighty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For extra content, art, and ramblings, visit wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

I have heard so many stories about what happens to Pokémon after death. In some, Pokémon are reincarnated: the last breath of one life is followed immediately by the first breath of the next. In others, the greatest warriors are brought into paradise, where war and disease are impossibilities; the wicked are sent to a shadowy underworld. In Sinnoh the newly-dead are ferried to the afterlife by Darkrai; Cresselia, the dreambearer, visits the sleeping with memories of departed loved ones. In Kanto they through the in-between space between life and death and have to choose between moving on to the next life, or to stay behind and watch over the living through tears in the sky.  
  
But each and every one begins the same way: with a final breath, with a darkness that turns bright.  
  
I had tried looking through the Professor’s spectacles once, and had been unable to see straight for days after. This is similar. There is no definition here: what might be grass and flowers blurs into swaths of greens and pinks, and clouds are only smudges of white against a pale-blue sky. I feel whispers of grass blades brushing against my hand, sneaking between my fingers. Everything, for better or worse, is muted here.  
  
Everything but fear. I can feel that just fine.  
  
My memories come back in flashes and bits that I scramble to rearrange in order: Goliath’s eyes, Britt’s stern lectures, Hyde’s laughter, Jackson’s roaring, the flash of Clara’s wings, Cassidy’s bright eyes. Water, so much water. True screaming, True sobbing, wet tile, shattered ice. So many eyes watching.  
  
There’s none of that here. I’m dry and strong and alone.  
  
My throat feels fine. Why, then, does my little cry of “Help” hurt so much? “I need” is just as painful; “please” feels the way a shattering glass bowl sounds.  
  
“Casey.”  
  
The hazy colors lose what little vibrancy they had: everything is a shade of gray. Six shadowy figures, black and solid, stare at me with piercing red eyes. I curl into myself, squeeze my cheeks, waiting for electricity to crackle in the open space. Nothing comes.  
  
“This is not a place for fighting,” says one—says all. Their voices, half-familiar, blend into one; their eyes, six individual pairs, are united on me.  
  
And as painful as the barbs are, I press against them for the most important question: “Am I dead?”  
  
There is a long, aching silence. Nothing moves. Not even a breeze to tease my ears.  
  
But finally, the answer comes, definitive:  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
 _Not yet_. I don’t feel the tears bubble up but I feel them fall down, fast and hot over my cheeks. “Then why…?”  
  
“So we can move on.” And the voices are warm, achingly so. My eyes narrow. My mouth parts. No words come out. The voices speak again. “You hold us in this in-between place with your grief. Now, it is time to let go.”  
  
“Who…?”  
  
“If you would look clearly,” they say, “you would know.”  
  
So I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. And open them to see.  
  
And they’re there, all in a circle, watching me watch them: Peter with his twitching half-whisker and careful wave of welcome; Kerri with a toss of her head and a flutter of her giant ears; Minka with her warm smile and weathered skin; Wilkes with his flashing eyes and lazy hands; Julian with his clenched hand and proud posture; Al with all the strength and courage and fearlessness I remembered. They are here and united and ringing around me, and I would have to continue turning around and around forever to keep them in my sights at all times.  
  
For a moment, I am tempted.  
  
Peter, with his tiny paws held up, is the one to break the awed silence. “Y-You made my Qu-Quick Attack lo-look good.”  
  
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Kerri says, breaking it further. Her eyes--I'd forgotten how alive and fierce those eyes were, how similar they are to an older Jackson--flash at me. “The runt I knew wouldn’t have been able to do what you did down there.”  
  
“Y’weren’t watchin’ him like I was,” Al quips behind me, whole and healthy and _alive_.  
  
“I watched,” Julian says. “I didn't know what to think.”  
  
I don’t even question how they know. It seems natural for them to know. “But you’re all…” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You’re dead. Right?”  
  
“If one were to define death as being unable to have the agency to walk through the living world ourselves,” Wilkes says, “then yes. We are dead.”  
  
“Then how…?”  
  
They do not step forward but stay right where they are. Minka’s laugh is gentle. “How are we here? I wouldn’t know, my dear. Does it matter?”  
  
I need to know if I'm hallucinating this, or if I'm really at the halfway point. But do I really want the answer?  
  
“That is not the issue at hand,” Wilkes says, and pins his glowing eyes on mine. “It is as we told you, Casey. Your grief, and the grief of your teammates—”  
  
“ _Our_ teammates,” Kerri hisses.  
  
“It keeps us here,” he continues, like there was no interruption, “unable to move forward to whatever is next. Reincarnation, the afterlife, whatever is next on our journey. I would not know,” he says, as Kerri opens her mouth again. “And I do not say that we are all ready to make that next step. But we need the option. Only you can give it to us.”  
  
This time there aren't any barbs. I feel liquid under the heat of their familiar, wise eyes. I lock on to Minka. “I can't... you're makin' this out t'be some noble quest, and I...”  
  
But my words trail away as Minka extends a vine to cup my cheek—or she would, if she could make contact with it. The touch slips right through me. I know the memory of her touch but it’s not the real thing. It will never, ever be the real thing. “It starts with you,” she says, her eyes shining. “You’re the one who has to help them heal. We can only do so much, the way things are now.”  
  
I want to touch her, touch all of them, even Wilkes, make them real again for just a moment. But somewhere in my body I know that they will never be real again. This is the closest I will ever, ever get to seeing them as they were again, saying new things with new meanings that make me feel things for the first time.  
  
“Y’gotta let us go, bro,” Al tells me, and smiles. “This is the way things have got to be. You all livin’ your lives, and lettin’ us get on with our next ones.”  
  
If I could bring any of them back—but then I stop myself. What would have happened if Peter hadn’t died on the SS Anne, or Kerri hadn’t thrown herself in front of a gun to save me and Jackson? If Minka hadn’t tried to subdue Cassidy in Silph Tower? If Wilkes hadn’t diverted the attention of the Graveller in Victory Road, would we have made it out the other end? If Julian hadn’t stayed out against that Aerodactyl?  
  
If my brother hadn’t died in that arena, would I have signed up the next year as a Starter? Would I have died?  
  
Would I have ever met Cassidy? Or True?  
  
I wipe away the tears and stand up straight, face each and every one of them as best I can. They rise to the occasion, coming together like we’re about to take a photograph. I try to memorize the scrunch of Minka’s eyes as she smiles at me, and the way Peter’s tail twitches against Kerri’s nose, and how she stamps her foot, and how Julian’s tail sweeps the ground, and how my brother looks ready to burst with pride. I even try to memorize Wilkes’s solemn nod and the way he moves his mouth as he says, “It is like I said. Everything happens for a reason.”  
  
I don't even bother fighting the tears.  
  
“Tell everyone we say hello,” Minka says.  
  
“An-And that they did a g-great job!” Peter pipes in.  
  
Kerri smiles. “Tell Jackson that it’s okay to be weak sometimes.”  
  
Julian nods his head. “Tell True that I heard every word.”  
  
When I turn to Wilkes, he shakes his head. And when I turn to Al, my question heavy, he just laughs and looks at me like I’ve told him the world’s best secret. “They already know.”  
  
Their voices blur at the edges. Everything begins to fade. I lose sensation in my body again. This time, I am not afraid. This time, I close my eyes as they call my name in farewell.  
  
And then I open my eyes.  
  
The night is spilling in through the open windows, eerie against the white walls of our team’s hospital room. Machines are beeping steadily at my head. I flex my toes under a thin cotton blanket that's still warm. My muscles ache. My head is pounding and throbbing like it’s about to explode. Everything seems to be here, even if everything's hurting.  
  
All it takes is a soft little moan for the left side of the bed to shift, for True to open her glassy eyes and look down at me.  
  
There is a moment where we just stare at each other, unsure of what to say. I’m afraid to move my arm and disturb the tiny needle buried in the flesh of my elbow; I think True’s afraid to touch me, because her hand hovers above my body, unsure. It moves to cover her mouth as she starts shaking.   
  
“I thought I’d,” she starts to say, and dissolves into a heap against my small mattress.  
  
I don't know how to comfort her without kisses and nudges; words, just words, have never been my specialty. I call her name and she looks up immediately, not bothering to wipe her tears, just taking me in with a hunger that surprises. “Not… lettin’ you down yet,” I whisper.  
  
True shakes her head and smiles so wide I fear her face will never be the same. “Never, ever, ever,” she tells me, and grabs my paw with a gentle desperation.  
  
It’s hard to tell when we fall back asleep. The next time I wake up, artificial white light is fighting against the natural glow of the afternoon. My body feels warm and hazy as I blink the room into shape. The needle from my arm has gone, replaced by a bandage and cotton ball. It’s easier to get my bearings now. Hyde is a towering figure at the foot of my bed, casting a long shadow. There’s a bandage over one of his eyes where a Poison Sting had struck, but otherwise he looks perfectly healthy. Worried as anything, but fine. “You really scared us,” he says.  
  
I breathe a little easier.  ”Didn’t mean to,” I say. I look past him to see Britt staring at us from her bed, her arms crossed under her chin. “How’d I do?”  
  
“You could’ve dodged that Ice Beam,” she says. “Otherwise, not bad. Smart to use Quick Attack to get out of the ice.”  
  
I hadn't seen her in that fever dream. I hadn't had the energy to ask True when I'd first woken up. It doesn't hurt to swallow, which is new. “Is she...?”  
  
We’re the only ones in the room. Hyde tilts his heads thoughtfully. “Sherri went to get some lunch, she took Jackson and Clara with her. True was going to go with them but she said she’d meet them later. That was just a few minutes ago. Maybe she went to go check on your friend?”  
  
I don’t know what surprises me more: that Sherri’s still here, that Jackson and Clara left with her, or that True didn’t wait for me to check up on Cassidy.  
  
“Someone’s supposed to come with _our_ food, but— _hold your Ponytas._ “  
  
My knees are wobbling and my tail is anything but straight, but if I move slowly, on all fours, I can walk off the bed. Jumping down hurts, but I manage. My body tingles as Hyde lifts me up; there’s a stern expression on every face, and his glowing eyes are narrowed. “You just woke up, you can’t go anywhere yet!”  
  
“I need to see her,” I say. “She… I could’ve—”  
  
“We’d know if she died,” Britt says. A few days away from her sharp tongue hasn’t done me any good; I flinch at the remark. The Blastoise rolls her eyes. “You ever hear the phrase, ‘no news is good news’? I’ve been awake through a few nurses subbing each other out, they gossip like a school of Goldeen. Even if they didn’t say anything on the TV,” she says, pointing past my head, “we’d know about it.”  
  
Only now do I notice the boxy TV resting on a rolling cart tucked in a corner.  
  
“If you _are_ planning on leaving me, since I still can’t get out of this damn bed by myself, plug that in before you go.”  
  
It’s a slow-going process: I don’t trust Hyde not to jam the plug into the outlet, and my fingers still feel like mush. But finally we get the TV plugged in and turned on. Hyde gives her the remote; Britt keeps it on mute until the two of us, me in Hyde’s leafy fronds, push through the door and go down the hallway.  
  
We have to pass a few doors before I realize that I have no idea where I’m going. Hyde, who had watched True go, tries to follow in her footsteps. For some reason, we're the only ones wandering the halls. I shrink further into Hyde's hair.  
  
“No, but it was really cool, battling in that big stadium? Really frightening, too. And then with that Alakazam, I thought she was gonna make my heads explode! And _then_ —”  
  
Down the hall, raised voices. I don't even have to ask Hyde to follow the noise. It only takes a few turns to find the culprits: three very familiar heads of hair, angled toward each other.  
  
“Half my team’s hooked up in wires and exhausted, and you’re asking—”  
  
“The process shouldn’t take long at all, we only have a few—”  
  
“Can’t this wait until after everyone’s—”  
  
Hyde taps the wall with his clawed foot. “Is everyone okay?”  
  
It’s a silly question. True’s the first one to recognize us, and her eyes go wide in her flushed face. Gary, with his folded arms and pursed lips, looks just as I remember him. Chris clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak—  
  
“Mr. Oak?”  
  
But it’s the nurse who peeks out of the room who breaks the silence, and the one person who has Gary’s undivided attention. “Is she…?”  
  
The nurse nods her head. “She’s out of immediate danger, but she’ll be weak for a while. So long as she takes it easy and doesn’t battle, your Vaporeon will be just fine.”  
  
He sighs with relief and, without a word, slips into the room. I start to jump from Hyde’s head to follow him, but the Exeggutor catches me again with a cloud of psychic energy. True is quick to scoop me into her arms, and runs a soothing hand down my back. “We shouldn’t go in there,” she says, not without—”  
  
But I’ve moved out of her embrace just enough to peek over the lip of the door, and I watch Gary move to the closest thing to the door, a tank filled with water. Cassidy bobs lazily on the surface, with her head perched on the edge of the glass. But either I breathe her name or she just _knows_ , because she turns away from them to look at the group assembled just outside her room—at _me_.  
  
“You’re okay,” she breathes, and I nearly crumble right there.  
  
Gary looks up to stare straight at me—I expect the hostility, but I’m taken aback by the slow flare of his nostrils. “You heard what she said, right? You’ll be just fine.”  
  
Cassidy closes her eyes and turns to Chris. “If you’re planning on talking with Gary… then I want to be there, too.”  
  
Gary turns his head. “Can she?”  
  
The tired-eyed nurse fidgets with her rubber gloves. She doesn’t even glance at Chris before saying, “You’ll have to be very gentle with her, understand?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
The nurse has to move around him to unhook the wires littered over Cassidy’s body; neither of them pays any mind to the shuffle. Gary runs a light hand along her frilled spine. “You’re sure you want to do this?”  
  
“I want to be there for you,” she says softly.  
  
The last wire is removed. Gary smirks and bends down to pick her up, his hands steady and sure, to cradle Cassidy in his arms like a toddler. Her head rests lazily on his shoulder, and her paws are tucked in his armpit. As he moves away from the healing tank, Cassidy meets my eyes with a tired, satisfied smile.  
  
No one comes to teleport us. Instead, Chris leads us through a pair of double doors and into a large, circular room. It is not empty. In fact, I can recognize each of the twelve faces who turn to face us from their ring of seats. The eight gym leaders and the Elite Four of Kanto stare the five of us down, some with neutral nods and others with welcoming smiles. A gray, heavily-veined hand flashes from the corner of my eye—I turn to see Bruno’s Machoke, who had been standing with him during our battle.  
  
I look for Lance, who eyes True and I with a soft sigh.  
  
“Thankfully we don’t have to go around the room introducing ourselves,” Chris says, as a small smile twitches into his face. There is one open spot between Bruno and Lance, and Chris takes it with a grunt. “I, Chris Mancon, High Champion of the Kanto Region, officially call this meeting to order. Today, we have to—”  
  
“Decide whether or not to name a High Champion right now, or broaden our search. I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion,” Koga says, his hands steepled on his knee. “By law, only one of these two trainers is eligible for the position. That would be Mr. Oak.”  
  
“And what has the law done for us the past few months?” Blaine adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his hawkish nose. “Silph’s medicinal line nearly destroyed by Giovanni, who just so happened to be the leader of Team Rocket.”  
  
Agatha sniffs. “Perhaps if my motion to perform more Spectre Tests had been passed, none of this would have happened.”  
  
True’s hands clench at her jeans. Only Gary and I seem to notice in the midst of this verbal onslaught.  
  
Bruno’s hands fly sharply in front of him. His Machoke is quick to translate. “We forget, the High Champion’s plan flushed out Giovanni. A lot of work has been done to put the region back on track.”  
  
“There's still more work to be done,” says Lorelei. “Frankly, I am still surprised that we have to be called here today for a new High Champion. Since Peg has made her intentions very clear about how long she would helm Viridian’s gym, naming her replacement should have been our only goal this year.”  
  
“I have made up my mind,” Chris says. Despite his calm voice, I can see his knuckles straining white against his red-brown skin. I can’t blame him for finally deciding to leave. Organizing a region is probably hard enough without this band of League officials squabbling over each other like a pack of Poochyena. “As is tradition, the Champion who has defeated all of his opponents has the first opportunity to be chosen as the region’s next High Champion. Gary Oak, do you have anything to say on your behalf?”  
  
Gary lowers himself to the floor to gently place Cassidy at the side of his chair; her eyes are fixated on him as he walks toward the thirteen League officials. Even hours before, I would have expected him to rise up confidently and state his case, to wax poetic about a right to rule and explain the great plans he had for the region.  
  
“I don’t want it.”  
  
But I have obviously pegged him wrong.  
  
“I thought I did,” he admits. “For so long now I’ve wanted to be in control. I wanted to take charge.” He turns his head to Erika; even from here I can feel the heat of Gary’s stare, which makes her stony expression more impressive. “I found Team Rocket’s hideout in Celadon City and flushed them out, which is more than the local police were able to do. I was chosen to become an inside man for Silph, and I gained intel so that we could take back the tower and drive the Rockets out. Hell, I’m only Champion right now because True was just a few seconds faster at throwing the match.”  
  
I furrow my brow at her in a silent question. _Is he right?_  
  
  
She meets mine, blinks, and nods.  
  
“I haven’t been in this room for five damn minutes and I’m already exhausted.” Gary runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “I can’t imagine putting up with this shit for a few years, or even a lifetime. Maybe if you all can get your act together, I’ll reconsider your offer.”  
  
“If you keep behaving like an insolent child,” Agatha seethes, “we will not extend this invitation again.”  
  
And even Cassidy is surprised when Gary puts his hands in his pockets, smirks, and says, “There are other regions who’ll be looking for High Champions.”  
  
Chris takes a long, deep breath before nodding. “You’re free to go, Mr. Oak. And please, say nothing—”  
  
“About anything we talked about,” Gary interrupts. “Got it. C’mere, Cass.”  
  
Again he bends down to the floor. Cassidy struggles to jump into his embrace, but they finally manage to get upright again. Gary does not look back once as he walks through the double doors. Cassidy’s eyes are the last thing I see before they swing closed again.  
  
“The youth these days,” Koga says, and shakes his head. “I am fortunate that Janine has never rebelled so outwardly.”  
  
I only just manage to catch Erika and Misty swapping sly smiles before they fade into neutrality again.  
  
Bruno claps a hard hand on Chris’s shoulder and signs something with the other. “Tough luck,” his Machoke translates. “What’s plan B?” Bruno’s eyes, warm and curious, find ours as he points to us. “The runner-up?”  
  
Chris breathes a long sigh through his nose. “No. The rules are very clear that only the trainer who wins all of their matches is eligible to become High Champion. I have no power to change that.”  
  
“Excuse me.” True’s soft voice brings everyone back to attention again. “If, um, if that’s the case, then why am I here?”  
  
“Because we do need a new Gym Leader for Viridian.” They aren’t Chris’s words. Peg Hartfield, in a carefully-tailored suit, stands with her hands firm on the table in front of her. “And unless I’m reading the High Champion disastrously wrong, he intends on nominating you.”  
  
For one moment, True’s thundering heart is the loudest noise in the room.  
  
“Observant as always, Peg,” Chris says, and nods. “That’s exactly why you’re here.”  
  
No warning, no chance to think it over. He springs the news on us like it’s a happy surprise, like this is something to be grateful for. And the worst part is that it _is_ —Gym Leaders are guaranteed a comfortable lifestyle, a place of privilege and prestige. They are the gatekeepers and caretakers of their communities. They are local celebrities. They’re the pieces that keep the machine moving. A machine that I never thought I would involve myself in.  
  
But here I am, in this room, still weak from battling on the greatest stage in this region, watching the assembled League officials nod their heads thoughtfully. And here is True, whose breathing is quickening from shock. I start to move forward to my usual place against her chest, but she feels me shift and shakes her head.  
  
“Why me?” she asks softly.  
  
“Same reason you can’t be our High Champion,” Blaine says. “See, the best High Champion is a warrior who rallies the people around them for lasting change. But the best Gym Leader, that’s someone who is able to help those warriors on their way to make that change. You get where I’m going here?”  
  
True is hesitant to shake her head. Sabrina leans forward, her thin arms crossed over her chest. “My Abra saw you in Silph Tower,” she says, “and watched you train the Rocket grunts, while Gary Oak went off into the wild with Ariana and her troops. Neither action meant more than the other when it came to reclaiming the tower and expelling Team Rocket.”  
  
“Kind of funny, when you think about it,” Brock says, resting his head on the back of his chair. “The kid of a Rocket Admin taking charge of one of their big fronts? It’d be poetic.”  
  
I frown. True smiles.  
  
“It is, of course, your decision.” Chris straightens in his chair.  
  
True turns her head to look Chris dead in the eye. “I’m… I’m honored. But I need some time to decide. Is that okay?”  
  
Chris’s smile is so warm, so familiar, that it leaves me breathless for a little bit—or maybe that’s True squeezing a little too tightly. Maybe it’s both. “Of course. The memorial ceremony will be tonight. Let me know by then, so we can make an announcement.”  
  
True nods shyly and gathers herself. “Thank you.”  
  
The room is silent as True walks through the double doors; the second they swing shut, I can hear them begin yelling over each other again. True leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “That was not what I was expecting.”  
  
“No one expects an offer like that.”  
  
We both jump at Gary’s sudden arrival. He still has Cassidy in his arms; she’s turned to face us as best she can, with tired eyes and a whisper-like smile. My heart thuds in my chest at seeing her. She is exhausted and tired and _hurt_ … but I can’t deny the relief fluttering on my tongue to see her here, and loved, and _alive_.  
  
“They didn’t offer you High Champion?” he asks.  
  
True shakes her head. As Gary nods, she clears her throat. “But they did… ask me to be Viridian’s Gym Leader.”  
  
Gary’s eyes widen. “Shit.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, chuckling nervously.  
  
“You’d have to join that friendly bunch,” he says, gesturing to the doors behind us. We fall silent just in time to hear a well-placed “WELL, YOU CAN GO SHOVE YOUR WIG UP YOUR ASS!” True winces. Cassidy can’t seem to help laughing, and I laugh with her.  
  
“It sounds like a lot of fun,” Gary says. “I’m so jealous they didn’t ask me.”  
  
True walks away from her place at the wall to stand in front of him. I am just feet away from touching Cassidy. ”Do you think I could do it?”  
  
The question surprises all three of us. Gary draws his head back slightly as he contemplates an answer. “Since when did you care about my opinion of you?”  
  
Cassidy just looks at me with a tilted head and a question on her lips. I don’t know how to answer it. So instead I stick my tail out, closing a bit of the distance between us.  
  
“Because everything you’ve ever said about me… a lot of it wasn’t nice. But it was usually pretty right. Especially in Silph.”  
  
He tilts his head back and takes a deep breath. “It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life, okay?” He sighs. “But I managed to see some of the security tapes from Silph as I was helping the League clear out the Rocket junk. I watched you with Archer’s class. I don’t know if I would’ve taught Rockets how to hit stuff better with their Pokémon, but I get the gist of what you were trying to do.”  
  
Cassidy meets my eyes, smiles, and returns the gesture. Our tails are not built for intertwining, but they meet with a gentle firmness that connects us. For a moment, we all are joined together in understanding.  
  
“So if you want to be part of that madness, go for it. I won’t stop you.” He squares his shoulders. “I need to take Cassidy back to our room now. Whatever decision you make, own it.”  
  
We break our connection. The two disappear down a corner, leaving True and me breathless.  
  
True doesn't say anything as she walks back to our room. There's a small box of pizza sitting on Julian's bed, shut closed by Sherri's protective hand. Jackson is the first to notice us, announcing our arrival with a loud, “Sherri said I couldn't have any pizza unless you said yes—”  
  
“And I say no,” she sighs. “The bacon and eggs were a one-time thing, Jackson.”  
  
Britt laughs and picks at her own bowl of Pokechow. “You gave him a taste of the finer things. Dumb.”  
  
“He would've eaten it all anyway!” Hyde says cheerfully.  
  
Jackson rolls his eyes, but when True collapses on the couch next to Sherri he finds no problem in settling on the floor to put his head in her lap. She scratches the space between his brow ridges with a teasing finger and leans back on the couch with a sigh. Sherri leans forward, a smudge of sauce on the corner of her lip, and asks, “How's Cassidy? She doing okay?”  
  
“I got asked to be the Viridian Gym Leader,” True says.  
  
Sherri's long, low whistle would have been response enough. Britt's wide eyes and Hyde's round mouths are just icing on the cake. Sherri clears her throat. “And what did you say?”  
  
“I told them I needed to think about it,” she whispers. “I'm still trying to process.”  
  
Sherri nods. “Did they give you a timeline?”  
  
“Tonight at the Memorial Ceremony. And I don't know what to _do_. They kept saying all these nice things and I couldn't say anything, because they were talking about Silph and everything I'd done. But I failed that mission!” True buries her head in her hands. “I… Vympel demoted me, Ariana found out about Gary and me, and there were so many times I wanted to run—”  
  
“But you didn't run.”  
  
Sherri's eyes are terrifyingly gentle as she looks at True. “When your plans took a wrong turn, did you call it quits? Or did you decide to continue fighting, even though you were afraid?”  
  
I look firmly into True’s glistening eyes and smile. True brushes the beginnings of tears out of her eyes and sighs. “No. But being the Gym Leader is different than storming the Rocket Base. And Gym Leaders…”  
  
I brush my nose against her cheek. When she looks down at me, it's with hesitation. She's near her breaking point, but isn't at it yet. I take that as my cue. “There are worse things than protecting and serving a city.”  
  
“And beating up bad guys,” Jackson says, to Clara's loud approval.  
  
“I don't really know what Gym Leaders do other than battle people all the time,” Hyde says. “But that looks like fun all by itself!”  
  
“There are worse ways to make a difference,” Britt says from her bed. She's smiling. “And besides, what else would you do? Go back home? Travel?”  
  
“Traveling _would_ be fun,” Hyde says.  
  
“That's what off-seasons are for.”  
  
“It's not up to us,” I say simply, and press my paw on her chin. “No matter what you decide to do or say, we'll support you. You know that, right?”  
  
“I know,” she says softly. She looks around the room and meets each of our eyes. “I know.”  
  
Wilkes’s insistent words echo in my ears, make a home on my tongue. But I swallow them down. Right now is not the time to look back. Maybe it isn’t even the time to look ahead. Right now we just wallow in the stillness of this moment, with hands clasped together and empty food bowls.  
  


* * *

  
I sleep for another few hours. Just as the sun begins to set, Chris comes to get us for the Memorial Ceremony.  
  
Five hundred people and Pokémon follow us north, just outside the city; the eyes of a million more are on us, symbolized by the blinking eyes of cameras. Any announcements that the League has will wait for tomorrow, when we look toward the future. Tonight, we honor and bury the dead to the sound of Chris leading us through Kantonian prayer, to the soft flicker of the tiny candles held in the hands of every mourner.  
  
One of True’s hands, dirty from planting Julian’s sapling in the throng of fallen warriors, has found its way back into one of Sherri’s; they cling together so tightly that I wonder if it will be possible for them to break away. Jackson has his head bowed throughout the ceremony but keeps turning to check on Britt, who sways on her feet but keeps upright. But Hyde and Clara are there at her sides, ready and waiting to pick her up just in case she falls. Britt’s protests are weak.  
  
Julian had heard True’s words as he’d died. Can he hear these prayers? Had my brother?  
  
One by one the voices fade into the dark November night. There is a moment of silence before Chris turns to the assembled crowd. “We invite you to wander through the forest and place your candle in front of a fallen Pokémon. May you remember them long after the grieving light goes out.”  
  
Is that how it’s supposed to work? You remember the warmth of the candle even when you've been left in the darkness? Is it that simple?  
  
True breaks away from Sherri to place her tiny candle in front of the stone tablet. In her arms, I whisper a lyric from an old Sinnoh mourning song. I let him go. From the corner of my eye I see Carlotta do the same, brushing her long fingers over the carved name of her fallen friend. People do not come up to meet with them, in pursuit of resting places for their own candles.  
  
“I asked to bury Minka here, but they said they couldn’t,” True whispers.  
  
“We talked about burying her in Cerulean.” I furrow my brow. “But I don’t want to have to go that far to mourn her. Is that selfish?”  
  
“No.” Minka’s urn, with her ashes, is back in our apartment, in True’s beaten yellow backpack. “I was thinking about planting flowers in front of the gym. That way, she’d stay with us.”  
  
“That’d be good,” I tell her.  
  
People come up to us with their condolences and congratulations. They eye me with a mixture of concern and respect. I’m not used to it. True takes it in stride, though, thanking them with a few gentle words. They back off. I’m grateful for it, and I’m grateful for Sherri coming back to our side. “You need to get out of here?” she asks.  
  
True hesitates. I take my chance. “I want to stay for a little longer. If that’s okay.”  
  
It takes a moment for her to reply; when she does, it’s with a very soft smile and an understanding nod. “Do you want one of us to come with you? Are you going to be okay?”  
  
“It’s pretty dark,” Hyde says, “and sad.”  
  
“This is something I need to do on my own,” I say. “I’ll find you?”  
  
“We won’t be far,” True promises, and lets me leave.  
  
I’m not used to walking on all fours, but it’s easier than trying to stay upright. I don’t fall down as easily. I only take enough time to read the names on the memorial rocks before moving on. There is no rhyme or reason to the placement of the trees—great towering oaks are planted right beside small ferns, great roots are exposed to brace the backs of saplings. This is a tradition that has stretched back centuries, before Kanto and Johto split into separate regions. Battlers from both Leagues are buried here.  
  
But somehow, I know Al’s when I see it. It is far from the biggest tree in this forest. There’s a thin layer of crushed leaves on the ground underneath the thick branches. Ten bright candles have been carefully placed just a few inches away from the thick trunk, throwing the memorial plaque into view. I ignore it for the tree itself, which had grown from what had remained of my brother. Maybe it’s the candlelight, but the trunk looks like the color of his fur, a warm orange-brown mixed with the dark brown of his ears. I press my cheek against the rough bark and take a deep breath, thinking that maybe, somehow—  
  
“You nearly gave me a heart attack when you jumped onto the battlefield.”  
  
Al does not come to me in a dream, but Chris is the next best thing. He’s still dressed in his dark suit. There are flickering candles and a decade between us; I’m not sure which distorts his face more. “I’d be lying if I said I was sorry,” I tell him.  
  
He doesn’t answer back, just sits with me against Al’s tree. “I guess you didn’t need my help to find his tree.”  
  
I look up at the thick, bare branches that sway in the breeze. “Why an oak?”  
  
“I didn’t want it at first,” he says. “Watching the green leaves change to orange and red hurt, the first year. But there’s something about watching the leaves bud in the spring that’s comforting. Even if Al doesn’t come back, his tree will.”  
  
The knot in my throat is hard to ignore, but I do my best. “Where’s Tanza?”  
  
“In his ball,” Chris says. “He doesn’t like these festivals. Usually he only comes here alone or with me.”  
  
It smells good here. There’s a sort of cleanliness in the brisk autumn wind that breezes over us. I curl further into myself—and then, without a warning, there’s a heavy hand on mine. I look up to see Chris, his eyes wide and glistening. “I’m sorry,” he says, and starts to pull his hand back.  
  
I follow it, right into his lap, and settle in the warmth. I don’t know how I break right there. It has been more than ten years since I have touched Chris like this, that we’ve been close enough to have this moment. I do my best to ignore the sudden shakes of his body and the hesitance in his hand as he strokes my back. Instead I close my eyes.  
  
He takes a while to speak. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d died down there.”  
  
I’d gotten close. My heart is hammering in my chest. “I used to wish it had been me down there against that… against Goliath. If it meant Al’d still be alive. I would’ve done it.”  
  
“He would’ve wanted it to be him,” he says.  
  
“It shouldn’t have been either of us.”  
  
His only reply is a soft grunt of agreement. We stay silent like that for a very long time—long enough for my arms to start going numb and for Chris’s faltering hand to steady its rhythm against me. Finally I look up to him. “Did True ever find you?”  
  
“She did,” he says. “And she accepted.”  
  
It’s done. Strangely, there’s only a tiny bit of fear fluttering in my chest. “You could have given us a little more warning.”  
  
“Consider it a tradition. I think the League will do better to have her as a Gym Leader.” He shifts in the grass. “I'm just sorry I won't have the chance to work with her more.”  
  
There are so many ways I could respond to that. But he's a grown man now, free to make his own choices. It's just strange to think that we could be—  
  
“Casey?”  
  
Chris and I turn as one at the soft voice. But I already know who I’ll find in the semidarkness. Cassidy stands just a few trees away, illuminated by candlelight, her head bowed and eyes so, so soft. Her ears droop as she registers the both of us. “Oh. I’ll just—”  
  
“No, it’s okay. I’ve stayed here too long anyway,” Chris says. He gently places me out of his lap and stands up to brush the dirt and grass off his butt. “I’ll… let your trainers know where you are.”  
  
And I swear by Arceus, he might have been fourteen again for the hesitance and pain in his eyes. I nod hesitantly before smiling. “Thanks, Chris.”  
  
He reaches his hand out like he wants to—but he drops it and dips his head to Cassidy before disappearing into the warm darkness.  
  
A familiar, cool weight settles against me as Cassidy lowers herself into the grass. “I never thought I’d see you with him like that,” she says softly. “Not after Celadon.”  
  
“A lot has changed,” I say. I take her in: she doesn’t have any serious scarring, and the black has faded from the edges of her collar. “You’re okay?”  
  
“I’ve been officially suspended from battling for a few weeks,” she says. “The nurses told us it could have been… anyway.” She rolls her shoulders and settles her head on the ground. “So long as I’m careful, I’ll be fine.”  
  
I know what she was going to say: It could have been so much worse. She could have been paralyzed. She could have been _killed_. And I would’ve been the one to do it.  
  
“Hey,” she says, lightly bopping me on the head with a forepaw. “I’m glad you gave me a good fight. I’m glad you trusted me enough to battle like that with me.”  
  
“You could’ve gone a little less hard on that last Hydro Pump,” I say. She laughs. “But it was a good fight.” I look up at Al’s tree. “And nobody died.”  
  
She follows my eyes up. “And nobody died,” she says softly.  
  
But we could have, so easily. Any of us could have. Some of us _had_. “Your team’s okay?”  
  
“Recovering. Boston’s really angry about losing to your Charizard, but he’ll get over it.” She starts, like she’s about to continue, but shakes her head. “What about your team?”  
  
I’m not letting her go that easily. “Are they angry?”  
  
“They wanted a clean, quick win. They wanted _me_ to have a clean, quick win.” She looks down at her paws. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Here’s the funny thing: I don’t even blame them. If we didn’t have our history between us, if I had been just another Pokémon, Cassidy would have beaten me up without complaint. But I also know that I wouldn’t have gotten on that battlefield if Cassidy hadn’t been there to meet me on the other hand. “My team’s okay, too.”  
  
“I couldn't help but overhear you talking about True,” she says, and smiles. “How’s it feel to be on a Gym Leader’s team?”  
  
Will the whole world know before Chris makes his announcement? Does it matter? It doesn't erase the warm feeling from my chest when I think about it. “Haven’t really done anything yet, so I’ll have to get back to you.” I look over to her. “I didn't think Gary would pass on the High Championship. How's he holding up?”  
  
“Okay, I think. He made the right choice. I think he would've been miserable as High Champion.”  
  
“Does he know what he’s doing next?”  
  
She closes her eyes and tucks me into her body. “There was a man in a brown trench coat waiting for us after we were done talking with you. He said he was with the International Police, and he was looking for possible recruits. Gary seems really interested.”  
  
I look down at my twiddling paws. “Will you go with him?”  
  
“He’s my trainer,” she says softly, a reflex. “And I want to. Traveling around the world, seeing as many places and meeting as many people as I can… I thought being a Champion’s Pokémon was all I wanted to be. Now I’m ready for something different.”  
  
I look down at my paws and nod. “You probably wouldn’t be around much, though.”  
  
“Probably not,” she whispers. And just like always, she sees right through me. “But it wouldn’t mean I’d be gone forever.”  
  
“We don’t know that.”  
  
“Does it matter?”  
  
She lifts her head to look straight at me. I can feel the heat rise behind my cheeks and behind my ears. Despite every thought screaming at me to turn away, I don’t; despite the slight tremble of my arms, I lean in. “I’m… scared, I guess. I won’t like wondering where you’ll be and if you’re safe. I didn’t like it when we were in the same region.”  
  
“Wondering about ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s is what got us in this situation in the first place,” she says, and presses her nose against mine. The contact is startling, soothing, and my eyes flutter closed without any warning. “I’m a big girl. You can trust me.”  
  
I lean into that touch and press our foreheads together. Her breath is stale and her eyes aren’t as clear. But they’re warm and bright and golden when I tell her, “Is it stupid that I’ll still worry about you anyway?”  
  
She smiles as she draws her tongue over my nose. “I love you, too.”  
  
This is the part where, in any book or movie, the music would swell, and golden light would come down to illuminate our faces, and an audience would cheer as we kissed or did whatever it is Pokémon do. It is a statement of revelation, but we settle into it like a realization, a truth, the inevitable. Still, it feels good to hear it said aloud. To say it back and pretend, at least for a little while, that we are the only things that matter. So we do.  
  
But we are not the only important things. Far from it. When all the candles have been blown out by the wind and Gary and True have come to find us, we part. We leave behind our entwined scents in our skin and the heaviness of our eyes and wishes and hopes.  
  
I’m still surrounded by the smell of her when we settle for the night.  
  


* * *

  
Early the next morning, Gary is celebrated as the year’s Champion. And late that afternoon, True is formally named Viridian’s new Gym Leader.  
  
I am there on her shoulder as True introduces herself to a region that is not easily satisfied by tumbling answers. She gives interview after interview with the Battle Network, with tiny magazines, with curious children who happen to see past the hood of her jacket and the gigantic Charizard at her side. They beg to know everything—what her favorite Pokémon is, how it felt to be on Kanto’s biggest battling stage, if she’s just “settling,” why she forfeited. If people didn’t know who True Fargone was before this—challenger of the Indigo League, daughter of a Rocket—they sure as hell know now, for better or worse.  
  
We don’t see much of Gary. But he seems confident in his own spotlight, if not relaxed. Cassidy, bright-eyed and healthy and in the process of complete recovery, is a stable presence beside him. True takes longer to settle into this new skin. But we are there for her, quiet guardians amidst the flashes of the cameras and the sharp hums of the microphones.  
  
Sherri, who comforts in the shadows, is only there for a part of the chaos—there is only so much time she can be away, and she has rent to pay and clothes to make. She leaves us in the middle of the night on a Wednesday, when reporters are less likely to find us together, and presses firm kisses against our foreheads and True's lips. Promises to write a letter every single day, to be safe, to do their best, are exchanged. True loses a bit of her bravado after Sherri leaves, and her hands always twitch like they're looking for something to hold. She lives for the night, and her fingers are always inky when she goes to bed.  
  
The whole affair takes about two weeks, and it's the tip of the iceberg. There's still so much to be done—there are rules to learn, forms to sign, decisions to be made about teammates and staff. But finally, True is allowed to go back home for a break. Peg is the one to give her the giant ring of keys to the gym, and the secret apartment upstairs.  
  
“Most of my stuff should be out of there,” she tells us with a wink. “Enjoy the privacy while you have it.”  
  
We fly by night on Clara's back, and land in Viridian hours before dawn. The streets are still empty. Bits of confetti and food wrappers are all the evidence we have of a huge celebration. In a few hours, I’m sure we’ll be expected to meet with the people. But right now, all we have to do is walk as one gigantic party to the back of the gym, where Peg had let us out after our match. True gets lucky and finds the right key on the very first try. “Nobody wander too far,” she warns.  
  
“We'll be good,” Hyde says, shivering with anticipation.  
  
But before she can turn it, the door opens.  
  
We all flinch away from the figure standing there in the shadows, but it's Jackson who meets the challenge with a roar. Most people would flinch at Britt's cannons clicking into position, or Clara beating her gigantic wings, or the licks of fire that trail from Jackson's mouth. But Richard Fargone stands his ground, keeping a steady hold on the big box in his arms. “I heard there was going to be a new Gym Leader, and decided to clear my things.”  
  
There isn't much, from what I can tell: a few framed photos, a mountain of stress balls, some files in manila folders. He sees me looking and sighs. “I didn't think you'd be here this early.”  
  
True's hands are fumbling for something to hold. Britt fills it with her stubby fingers, her cannons gleaming in the dawning light. “I wanted… to see everything. Maybe take a nap.”  
  
“It's been a long few weeks,” he answers softly. “And it'll be a longer journey still. Gym Leaders will never have the easy jobs.”  
  
“Well, we need to go start ours,” Britt says. “So if you'll kindly get the fuck out of our way—”  
  
“Did you watch?”  
  
Even Britt looks surprised by True's sudden question. Richard's eyes are round as he looks True over: her quivering lip and her shaking hands and her squared, tense shoulders. He sets his box down on the grass, rising slowly despite Clara's warning hisses. “I did.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“It killed me,” he says softly, “to not be there for you.”  
  
I can't help but think of flames and dirt and stone when I see True's and Richard's hungry eyes meet each other. “But you're leaving now.”  
  
He nods. “Peg asked me to help organize some files before I left. This way, there’s room for whoever you decide to hire in my place.”  
  
True flinches like she’s been dealt a physical blow. I lean against her cheek and wait until she brings a hand to scratch my arm. Her pulse is racing in her neck and I can see her hands start to shake, but her voice is strangely steady when she asks, “Why were you the secretary when I… when Peg was Gym Leader?”  
  
He blinks for a moment. “That was my job when I worked at the gym before… before,” he finishes lamely. He takes another look at his box. “I didn't spend all my time at Silph. I probably know more about this place than anyone else.”  
  
“Who isn't incarcerated,” Britt mutters.  
  
I don’t understand Richard's laugh, too gentle for what I'd expected. I guess I don't have to. True's cheeks are flushed and she fidgets with a few locks of hair. She takes a deep breath before she asks, “Would you teach me?”  
  
There is something strange unfurling here, something I have no name for. Desperation is the closest word I can think of. It's the word for Richard's eyes as he stands straight up to look at her. “Now?”  
  
True frantically shakes her head; Richard's face ages another five years. “I need a… a nap, and some time to think.” She swallows. “But… Maybe in a day or two? I could call Mom.”  
  
“I'm sure she'd like to come,” he says gently. He sighs. “You probably want to get in here, huh? Do you know where the lights are?”  
  
“Peg told me,” she says. “I’ll figure it out.”  
  
“You will.” Richard closes his eyes. “Well. You know where to find me.”  
  
There’s a long, pregnant pause where I wait for one of them to do something—to shake hands, to bid each other farewell, to lash out, _anything_ other than this awkward staring at each other. But as the moments pass and it becomes clear that nothing more will come from this meeting, Richard Fargone adjusts his hold on his box and walks away, tight-shouldered and rod straight.  
  
True lets go of Britt’s hand and wipes her almost-tears away. Clara butts her head against True’s shoulder and coos softly. It makes True laugh, and she leans into the touch. Hyde, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, finally looks up and says, “I guess we should look inside, huh?”  
  
“I’ll lead the way,” Jackson says.  
  
The building is dark. True fiddles with the ring of keys as we walk down the hallways; we keep so close together that our bodies continually brush with every step. Jackson's tailflame is hardly enough for us to see by; we take more than a few wrong turns before finally finding our way to the battlefield and the main lobby.  
  
Has it only been a month ago when we had climbed those stairs, when we had battled in the arena behind those huge doors?  
  
“Can you come closer, Jackson? I don’t think I’ll be able to see the door.”  
  
True’s hands are shaking so badly that she can’t line the keys up; I help her guide them toward the lock and open the door. She breathes a soft “Thank you” and pauses before flipping the switch. I blink rapidly in the sudden explosion of light. The battlefield, the same sandy battlefield with the same chalk lines, stares openly at us. But on our side of the glass there are only a few lights to illuminate the dark gray walls, the black secretary desk, and the curled bannister. Clara, perched on the railing, coos softly at Jackson. He doesn't follow her eyes, instead looking down at Britt and Hyde as they wander the small room.  
  
“It's still so _dark_ ,” Hyde breathes.  
  
“I sure as hell wouldn't want to wait around to battle in this,” Britt says at the bottom of the staircase.  
  
With the ring of keys in one hand and determination in the other, True looks over the balcony to the tiled floor below. Her eyes are still glassy and her fists are still trembling, but she stands and stares like she's surveying uncharted land before her. In a way, I guess she is. This is her kingdom now.  
  
I jump onto the balcony, careful not to lose my balance. The metal is already warm where True grips it. “You’re going to be okay?” I ask.  
  
She takes another deep breath. “Yeah. I’m going to be okay.”  
  
“Then what's next, O Great Gym Leader?”  
  
She looks over at me and smiles. “Give me a moment to take it all in, mister warrior.”  
  
It's a fair enough response. We have all the time in the world to breathe, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hyde Mega Drain, Sandslash Poison Sting PSN//Hyde Mega Drain, Sandslash FAINT_  
>  Alakazam Psybeam, Hyde Hypnosis MISS//Alakazam Kinesis, Hyde Mega Drain//Alakazam Psybeam, Hyde Stomp//Alakazam Psybeam, Hyde Stomp, Alakazam FAINT  
> Clara Drill Peck CRIT, Exeggutor FAINT  
> Ninetales Quick Attack CRIT, Jackson Earthquake//Jackson Earthquake, Ninetales FAINT  
> Jackson Earthquake CRIT, Magneton FAINT  
> Casey Thunder wave, Cassidy Hydro Pump (Casey 3 HP left)//Casey Hyper Potion, Cassidy paralyzed//Casey Thunderbolt, Cassidy Aurora Beam//Casey Thunder, Cassidy Mist//Casey Thunderbolt, Cassidy FAINT 
> 
> The Gary fight otherwise went off without much of a hitch. Hyde saved my ass with his bulk and his clutch Stomp; Jackson knew Earthquake because I taught him the TM before I lost Wilkes and picked up Julian, which ended up working to my advantage given the Lance fight; the Magneton fight was so uneventful I just skipped it. And then, well. The final battle. Never had I regretted running Starter Death Clause before the final battle. Had I lost Casey at this point, the run would have failed. But I didn't. I'm still not quite sure how I managed to pull that off; the RNG gods must have been smiling on me and gave me a low roll off that Hydro Pump, or something. Consider the horrible cliffhanger I left CH79 on the written equivalent of the heart attack I had. :)
> 
> This is the first time we see all of the big League members in the same room, and it's... explosive, to say the least. One of the main duties of the High Champion is to nominate Gym Leaders and Elite Four members to their positions. The current GLs and EFs come together as a council to act as a "check" to the High Champion and to each other. A simple majority passes. It's not a perfect system in the slightest, but then again, which governing system is?
> 
> I can't believe I'm about to say this, but the next update will be the last one. Wonderwall will end with an epilogue that I very much hope will satisfy. Here's to the end, my loves. <3


	90. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this storylocke three years ago I had no idea that it'd turn out to be this huge monster--a prologue, eighty chapters, six written extras, a comic extra, and finally an epilogue, all amounting to over 380k words. This is officially the longest thing I have ever written, both in terms of length and in time. I never would have made it through without support from the friends I've made here on the forums, and from every single person who has read and commented on this run. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> Without any further ado... it's time for the story to end. 
> 
> Feel free to find me at awakingdormancy.tumblr.com, and wonderwallnuzlocke.tumblr.com.

If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have known six months could pass so quickly.  
  
There's so much to do: redesign the gym, take intensive classes, learn how to be a Gym Leader, catch the Pokémon who will be on the eight gym teams. There are so many meetings and regulations and lessons that everyone feels torn five different ways. We spend the winter months travelling the region, jumping from gym to gym to study and battle and learn.  
  
True handles it with a grace that would have surprised me at the beginning of her journey. It doesn't now. There are struggles and anxieties born from asking too much too quickly, but we ride them out. In Saffron, Sherri is able to work her magic and lets True disappear for a few short hours; the girls come back to Sherri's tiny apartment red-cheeked and wild-eyed and happy, with their hands threaded together.  
  
I am at True's side when Kanto's newest High Champion is named in March. Peg Hartfield takes her mantle with a smile and powerful, declarative words. Chris sends her off with smiles and handshakes, looking years younger; Lance, Johto’s current High Champion, welcomes her with pats on her arm and promises to work together “much more smoothly than before.” The two High Champions spend hours behind closed doors, discussing ways to better their regions as High Champions.  
  
Normally it’s the High Champion who receives presents from their staff, but Peg Hartfield gives us something game-changing: Sed.  
  
“She’ll be slow to trust,” she warns us, as rain dribbles down her office window. “But she was never mine to have, I don’t think. Keeping her with you will do her good.”  
  
I expect a rampaging monster, another Jackson, but she is deathly quiet when she meets us. She trains with us and watches our every move; she meets with True’s gym teams and tries to find a synergy there. Hyde, though still as energetic and loud as ever, is the one who fights the hardest to integrate her into the fold, who stays by her side and talks for hours about everything and nothing. Eventually, with a few well-placed stories and gentle talks with True, she comes into her own—still quiet and reserved, but alert and eerily focused.   
  
We don’t hear much from Gary and Cassidy—they’re learning their own codes and regulations, restructuring their routines. But once in a while our schedules will line up so we can talk over video. The time spent traveling and training has done her good; there’s a new bulkiness to her shoulders and a renewed spark in her eyes, and though she isn’t allowed to tell me about the secret procedures of the International Police she goes on and on about the beaches of Sunyshore, the people and Pokémon she’s met.  
  
I tell her to head out to Solaceon. Two weeks later I get a postcard with an inked paw pad signature and promises to meet again soon.  
  
April gives way to May with its usual relaxed ease. Johto holds its Indigo Challenge and crowns a new Champion for the year, a bright-eyed boy with shocking gold eyes. The Professor pairs the year’s new trainers with their Starters, and prepares his notes for the big Ceremony in the morning. It’s one of the rare years where there are more than a dozen trainers setting off from Pallet Town; the Professor has been in this business long enough to know that there’s an ebb and flow to these things. But I had watched them from my secret place in the rafters, watching them interact with their brand new partners. Many have made the journey from the eastern towns and cities of the region to be in a prime position to challenge Kanto's newest Gym Leader. The young Pokémon have been just as eager, and that's made them near listless in the laboratory tonight.  
  
They know who I am and what I’ve done, and who my Trainer is. Between playful teasing and mock fights they throw questions at me, and I answer them the best I can—I haven’t evolved because I never felt the need to; I don’t battle professionally anymore; True is headstrong and shy and _good_ ; she is not her father. They ponder each answer with blinks and slight nods. And then, like clockwork, they’ll ask another.  
  
“What’s it like to fight in the gyms?”  
  
It does them no service to sugarcoat my answers. “Exhilarating. Terrifying. The best and worst experience you’ll have in your life.” There’s a soft beat of silence as they wait for the rest of my answer, fixing their wide eyes on mine. It takes me a moment to find a second part. “You have to work with your team to make sure you succeed.”  
  
One of the Charmander, a dark little thing with the brightest, greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, curls her fists. “I hope we get to fight in a gym _tomorrow!_ ”  
  
“No, _I’m_ gonna fight in a gym tomorrow! I’ll be the first to challenge the new Gym Leader!” The Bulbasaur looks up at me with fierce determination on his face. “I’m gonna be the strongest.”  
  
It’s such a strong declaration from such a tiny Pokémon that I can’t help but laugh. “One battle at a time, okay?” I glance over to the clock just before it rings the nine o’clock hour. “Besides, it’s time to get some sleep.”  
  
One of the Squirtle frowns so deeply that I’m afraid his frown lines will last beyond his evolution. “Can’t we stay up a _liiittle_ longer? I’m not sleepy yet.”  
  
But from the corner of my eye I watch a few Charmander rub their eyes with the backs of their paws, and a whole group of Starters fight unsuccessfully to hide their yawns. “You’ll be sorry if you can’t stay awake on your first day,” I tell them, and fight back a chuckle. “Now c’mon, into your balls.”  
  
The room gets thicker and sleepier as the group of Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle start to fall asleep on their toes. With every flash of red and disappearing body I think of another new story about to begin. Like every year, I wonder how far each of them will go: if some will become just companions to their new trainers, if some will fall in battle, if one might just make it to the Indigo Plateau and battle Peg for the year’s Championship.  
  
But this year’s different; they’ll all have to pass True if they want to go farther than Viridian. There’s something strange and wonderful in that.  
  
The outside air is still warm despite the late hour. Most take it as Moltres’s work, a sign of bright beginnings in the midst of a new High Champion and a new crop of trainers setting on their journeys. It’s an old superstition, impossible to prove or disprove. I might have erred on the side of science, of the changing seasons being tied up in the tilting planet and trips around the sun. But I’ve seen stranger things.  
  
I look up into the last few rays of light to see Jackson and Clara riding high in the clouds, diving in and around each other. Whatever nervous animosity had exploded between them in the Indigo Plateau had disappeared. They are back to their old selves now, flying and sparring and being each other’s confidants. I hear Hyde in the distance before I see him, sitting beside Britt and Sed. The Rhydon is far more patient with him than any of us had been at first, listening to his stories and offering a few meager ones of her own. It is a strange partnership, one that seems to make sense in an abstract way.  
  
“…Wasn’t blown off course?”  
  
I grin at the familiar voice and follow it around the bend. The Professor cuts an intimidating shape against the setting sun. He leans against the wood bannister, one hand running through a mess of his graying hair. What surprises me is his companion.  
  
“My dad’s a Hoenn native,” the Wingull says, bouncing nervously on his tiny feet. “Doesn’t remember getting caught, he was just surfing on the waves. Next thing he knew, he was down by your volcano. I don’t really know anything else.”  
  
Oak nods solemnly. “I see. Thank you for talking with me.”  
  
The Wingull finally notices me, because he hops into the air with a panicked warble and doesn’t look back. The Professor takes a long moment to turn behind him, and when he does it’s with an understanding smile. “You could have announced yourself.”  
  
“Could’ve.” I jump onto the bannister beside him. “Another migrant?”  
  
He nods. “With the way the winds have been blowing I expected to see a few Pokémon thrown off course from their migratory patterns. But it’s more than just this Wingull. Johto seems to be having a more difficult time with it.”  
  
But it will only take a few determined, powerful fighters to cross the Tohjo mountains. “Will the new kids be okay?” I ask softly.  
  
“They will,” Oak says confidently. “We’ve had bigger scares than a few misplaced Pokémon. And with you and True in Viridian, I’m sure things will be fine.”  
  
We’ll cross the bridge when we get to it. I take a deep breath of the early summer air and sigh. Hyde’s booming laughs echo across the lawn; if I concentrate I think I can see Britt hang her head.  
  
“You should probably get going before it gets to be too late,” the Professor says, jarring me out of my observation. “Wouldn’t want you all to be too tired to start battling our new trainers in the morning.”  
  
“They won’t be ready _that_ quickly,” I scoff.  
  
The Professor laughs. “You’d be surprised. Now get going.”  
  
I don’t need any more persuasion. The grass is dry and slightly yellowing under my paws as I run across the field and into the trees. At this time of night, the Pidgey have retired to their nests, satisfied from a day of sparring and hunting. The further east I go the fainter Hyde’s laughter becomes, the smaller Jackson and Clara appear in the sky. Soon the only thing I hear is the cracking of sticks underfoot, and the gurgling of the river.  
  
Years and years ago Cassidy and I had fished a sopping wet True out of this river, in this exact same spot. She’d been energetic and stubborn and wild, a “my way or the highway” child who took life by its horns. Some of that reckless abandon had disappeared with age—life and the people around her had changed too much, had taught her to be careful. But I’d seen a spark of that small girl when, a year ago, she had sat on that boulder and had asked me to do what should have been impossible.  
  
That spark is there now when I find her, hunched over that same boulder with her arms crossed on top of her knees. In six months she’s regained the weight she’d lost on her journey; she seems happier with herself, more at home in her skin. Despite the chill she doesn’t wear her jacket, just a blue tank top and a battered pair of dark jeans.   
  
"I had a feeling I'd find you here," I say loudly.  
  
She turns to me with a lazy smile on her face; she doesn’t move from her spot on the boulder. "I wasn't ready to come back just yet," she says. "Was everyone worried?"  
  
"Just Oak," I say, and clamber up on the rock beside her. "He doesn’t want us up past curfew.”  
  
She laughs at that, stretching out on the mossy stone. The moonlight catches on the river and the swaying leaves, bleaching them silver.  
  
"I can't believe it's been a whole year," True says softly.  
  
It had all begun with a question, one simple request. Even now, with tears and laughter and badges and blood behind us, I find it strange to think. The sun will come up and True will open her doors to the flood of overeager challengers who want to put their skills to the test for the first time; and I will be at her side, watching a new batch of trainers learn.  
  
"Did you think we'd ever end up like this?" I ask.  
  
"No way," she laughs. "If you told me last year I’d be a Gym Leader I wouldn’t have believed you.”  
  
I smirk. “If anyone told me I’d battle for the Championship I would’ve thought you’d knocked your head.”  
  
True’s hand is a steady, familiar weight on the top of my head. “Makes me wonder what the next year is going to have in store for us, huh?”  
  
I follow her eyes up to the stars that are just starting to poke out from the sky. The brisk breeze that whispers over us pricks at True’s exposed skin, fluffs my fur out. I would be content to spend the night out here, with just True and the stars and the gurgling of the river. But we have things to do.  
  
“The others’ll start wondering where we are,” I say softly.  
  
“Guess so,” she says. True puts on her jacket slowly, savoring every last second we have out here. I think she knows that we won’t be able to come back out here for a while, just the two of us. She stands up sure-footedly but brushes a hand over the boulder, still warm from hours of sitting. I jump back to her shoulder.  
  
“Do you regret coming with me?”  
  
I don’t look up at her. I have mourned our lost teammates and my brother the way I hadn’t allowed myself to in years; it doesn’t stop the nightmares from coming. Sometimes when I swallow I can still taste the salt from the Seafoam Islands, and the chlorine from Misty’s and Erika’s pools.  
  
But there’s a home waiting for us just a few miles away from here, a few minutes on Clara’s back. There’s a gym full of Pokemon eager to test their abilities against brand new opponents. We won’t be coming back home in the darkness; Sherri will be waiting for us there, probably wrapped up in a brand new project despite being on vacation leave.  
  
My nose finds a place against her neck, right at her pulse point—it is a steady, rhythmic feeling, a promise. Even now I can feel mine slow down to match hers, beat by beat. I tell her, “No.” I tell her, “Thanks for asking.”  
  
The gentle hand that strokes my back is answer enough. We turn our backs away from the rock, away from the river, and step into the dappled moonlight. It feels like a beginning.  
  
This time, I’m ready for it.


End file.
